


The Fallen

by Bloodrose84



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (I promise), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale is hurting, Betrayal, Crowley is a bastard, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, crowley is an idiot, major angst, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2020-10-19 23:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 54,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodrose84/pseuds/Bloodrose84
Summary: Crowley is a far better demon than people give him credit for...after all; how many demons would come up with such a wonderful idea - making an angel Fall. He knows exactly how to do it, too, nothing could go wrong...





	1. Chapter 1

Unlike most other demons, Crawley hated the dark and the damp. It set him apart, so he didn’t talk about it, but there it was. The assignment to go up and cause trouble with God’s latest plaything had been something of a punishment because nobody else wanted to do it. Crawley had been angry about it…until he got up there. And it was _beautiful_. The lush greens of the foliage, the colours of the blossoms and the animals, the warm gleam of sunlight…Crawley could barely remember heaven but he was sure it couldn’t have been as glorious as this. He spent a long while simply slithering around, enjoying the colours and sensations (if anyone from hell asked, he was of course scouting the area so as to plan the best way to cause trouble). He observed the angels at the gates in turn - tall, proud, impassive; gold adornments on their faces and bodies glistening in the sun – and quickly decided there was no way he could damage a gate and let something in. And then he got to the eastern gate, and he paused, tongue flickering at the air curiously.

The angel here was not like the others. There was no gold on his face, no superior impassivity, if anything he looked _kind_. He was watching the humans with a soft smile on his face, a flaming sword stowed carefully at his hip; flames licking harmlessly at the white fabric of his robe. He cut an impressive figure, but in a very different way to his counterparts at the other gates. Crawley couldn’t quite explain it. As if sensing he was being watched, the angel glanced in his direction and Crawley quickly slithered in to the undergrowth, hurrying away. He resisted the urge to circle back and try to catch sight of the angel again; instead he slithered off in the direction of the humans. They were God’s latest playthings, after all, surely any ‘trouble’ he caused would centre on them. He found them sat beneath a fruit tree, enjoying the sun. He eyed the fruit tree curiously. Instantly he could tell there was some ethereal power to it.

“Hello.”

He glanced over in surprise. The female was watching him with a smile on her face.

“Hello.” He hissed back, slithering towards them. He curled lightly around her ankle. “What are you doing?”

“It’s lovely and warm here. Will you join us?”

“Really? Don’t you know what I am?”

“You must be one of the Almighty’s creatures, so you are beautiful. You could come with me to gather fruits if you like.”

“You’re sat under a fruit tree.” Crawley pointed out. She shook her head.

“We mustn’t eat those. We’ve been told by God.”

Crawley wiggled with glee. _Here we are, easy bit of trouble right here_. “Surely the Almighty wouldn’t deny you such luscious looking fruit?”

“We’ve been told.”

“But that doesn’t matter.” He curled up her body, encircling her shoulders briefly before slithering onto a low hanging branch. “Trusssst me.”

With a smile, she reached for an apple and plucked it from the tree.

****

The sky was grey, now. Crawley didn’t like it. He slithered towards the Great Wall, thinking he might follow the humans out into the wilderness when he caught sight of the angel at the eastern gate. He changed course slightly, slithering up the wall and transforming into his humanoid form next to him.

“Well that went down like a lead balloon.” He hissed softly.

The angel looked at him. “Sorry, what was that?”

Crawley glanced over. “I said; that went down like a lead balloon.” He appraised the angel before him. He looked sad, and slightly scared, and Crawley didn’t know what to make of it. He knew there was a very good chance he was about to be smited down, but there was a little voice in the back of his mind telling him he had nothing to fear. Even when he pointed out what an overreaction it was of the Almighty to banish the humans from Her garden the angel didn’t really react, just became a bit flustered and started rambling on about the Great Plan. Crawley eyed him curiously. Something was different. He looked him carefully up and down, eyes pausing when he got to the angel’s hip. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” he interrupted.

“Um…”

“You did, it was flaming like anything, where is it?” he smirked. “Lost it already have you?”

“I gave it away.” The angel said in a small voice. Crawley lit up gleefully.

“You what?”

“I gave it away!” the angel continued to justify his action but Crawley was barely listening. This angel had _defied God_. It was possibly the most wonderful thing Crawley had ever seen. They traded more small talk and jibes, and then the heavens had opened and water had begun to fall. Crawley moved towards the angel instinctively, seeking protection from what he was suddenly afraid was Holy Water. The angel lifted a wing to shield him, and Crawley felt an unexpected warmth in his chest. He glanced at the angel. He wasn’t looking at him; instead his eyes were fixed on the humans.

“I didn’t ask your name.” Crawley said suddenly.

“Aziraphale.” The angel said absently. “The principality Aziraphale.” They stood there for a long while whilst the rain came down around them. Eventually it petered out and the sky began to take on a bluish hue once more.

“Right. Well. Um...nice to meet you and all that. I’d better be off.” Crawley transformed again into the snake and slithered away before Aziraphale had time to respond. He burrowed down into the cool earth, heading towards hell. This was going to be an interesting report.

* * *

Crawley hummed quietly to himself, scuffing his feet on the floor. He glanced down the long corridor he was sat in, but it remained stubbornly empty. He leant his head back against the wall behind him before jerking it sharply forwards, cursing, as whatever cold slime was on the wall coated his hair. He shuddered and snapped his fingers, sending it flying back to the wall from whence it came.

Crawley. Was. Bored.

He had been in this corridor since he’d returned from Eden and he was sure that was a very long time ago. Why Lord Beelzebub was making him wait was a mystery. Without warning, a large door flew dramatically open and a loud voice called out.

“Crawley. Enter.”

Crawley stood up and stretched, shaking out his limbs and sauntering in to the room.

“My lord Beelzebub.” He said silkily, with a bow that was half deference and half mocking.

Beelzebub was sat at their desk, scribbling something on pieces of paper. Crawley waited. After a moment, they looked up at him.

“You were sent up there to cause trouble. Report.”

Crawley smirked. “I tempted the female to eat of the forbidden fruit tree, my lord. The Almighty has cast them out from their garden.”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “Of course. Got a thing for casting people out.”

“But, my lord, there’s something else. There was an angel-”

“Crawley.” Beelzebub interrupted icily, pinching the bridge of their nose in frustration. “Are you telling me that you were thwarted on your first ever assignment?”

“No, my lord! It all went perfectly.”

Beelzebub gave him a dirty look and went back to their scribbling. “Then why are you wasting my time talking about an angel?”

“Because,” Crawley said gleefully, “I believe I can get him to Fall.”

Beelzebub went very still. They looked up at Crawley. They licked their lips. “Fall?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It’s been a long time since an angel Fell.” Beelzebub said carefully.

“I’m aware, my lord.”

“It’s be a big inconvenience for them.”

“More than that, my lord, it would be a precedent. Show we can still get to them.”

Beelzebub gazed into the distance, nodding slowly. “That smug twat Gabriel thinks he’s untouchable. We could show him he isn’t…get to an angel…what rank?”

“A principality.”

Beelzebub grimaced. “Lower management. But still, management nonetheless…” Beelzebub looked thoughtfully at Crawley and spread their hands. “Ok, Crawley, you can have this project, but just between us. Off the record. Let’s see what you can do.”

Crawley smiled gleefully. A forked tongue flickered from between his lips. “Excsssssselent.” He hissed.

With another low bow he left the room, pausing in the corridor as the door slammed shut behind him. With a laugh, he rubbed his hands together gleefully before setting off in the direction of the exit. Before he’d gone very far, a voice called to him from the shadows.

“Crawley. Where the fuck are you going?” Duke Hastur emerged, glaring. Crawley smirked, and the glare became a full on scowl. “Well?”

“Up top. Got something to work on.”

“You don’t have any assignments.” Growled Hastur.

“This one came straight from Lord Beelzebub. Top secret. If you don’t like it, take it up with them.” Hastur seemed to swell with anger, and for a moment Crawley wondered if he was about to explode. That would be fun.

“Maybe I will.” Hastur slunk back into the shadows, and Crawley could no longer see him. He offered a sarcastic wave to the darkness, before carrying on. He could barely contain the excitement bubbling under the surface. If he could do this, if he could _really_ do this; it would make a name for him. He’d probably get a promotion. Other demons would speak of him with reverence instead of in that disgusted tone they used now.

And, really, in a way this was the right thing to do. If God was Just then this Aziraphale would have Fallen already for daring to defy Her and giving away his sword. All Crawley was doing was restoring the balance. It was barely an evil act.

He broke through the surface into the garden and transformed into his human form. He breathed deeply. It smelt wonderful. Fresh. It smelt of hope. He glanced up at the wall to find it deserted. Well. That made sense. The lush plant life was hardly the thing the angels were guarding. With a skip in his step, Crawley headed towards the nearest gate. He basically had free reign to enjoy himself for a while until he found Aziraphale again. Crawley didn’t imagine it would take long. After all, how big could the world be?


	2. Chapter 2

It turned out the world was very big, and it was actually just over a millennia before Crawley caught sight of a puff of white hair through a crowd and his heart leapt in recognition. _Finally. _He’d heard rumours this giant boat being built was something to do with heaven; apparently they were planning some sort of flood.

Lovely.

Nothing like a little casual mass murder to show your love.

Crawley hesitated. Given that it was heaven, it made sense for the angel to be here. Did that mean the others were, too? He quickly scanned the masses but caught no sign of gold glinting in the light. Just Aziraphale, then. That would make things easier. With a smile, he pushed through the throng to his adversary, greeting him like an old friend. Crawley decided the best plan of attack was to pretend to be utterly oblivious, discussing the oncoming storm with the angel as if it was all new to him. Crawley noted with satisfaction Aziraphale’s displeasure and the way he flinched slightly when Crawley pointed out the whole thing was like something hell would do. Sowing the seeds of doubt into Aziraphale’s mind. He almost cocked it up, calling to Shem by name as the unicorn made a bid for freedom (poor sod, it had no idea) but thank Satan Aziraphale was either too anxious about everything to notice it, or he was a bit of an idiot. Or possibly both.

Before long, the rain began to fall. Since the last time they were together Crawley had experienced countless rainstorms so unlike last time he didn’t flinch, he didn’t edge closer. Instead, he cast a look up at the sky before turning to Aziraphale.

“Well, I’m going to go somewhere dry. Fancy coming with me?”

“I’m…I’m sorry?”

“We could, I don’t know, enjoy some wine. Some food. Talk about life on earth.”

“But…” Aziraphale looked around helplessly. “We can’t.”

“You want to stay and watch people drown? Whatever does it for you, I suppose…”

Aziraphale turned to him sharply and Crawley took an involuntary step back. The angel’s eyes were blazing, and Crawley appreciated for the first time exactly _why_ this particular angel had been chosen to guard one of the gates of Eden. The one nearest the apple tree, no less.

“No, I don’t want to stay and watch, _demon_,” he spat the word like an insult, “but why would I go anywhere with _you_?” The air crackled dangerously, and Crawley narrowed his eyes, choosing his next steps carefully. He licked his lips. Evidently Aziraphale might be more dangerous than he had originally thought.

“Because who else would you go with?” Crawley pointed out. The angel considered him for a moment and then softened. The electricity in the air vanished leaving Crawley feeling strangely light. Aziraphale was watching him openly now, and something about the intensity of his gaze made Crawley uncomfortable. Did Aziraphale know what he was trying to do? Had he realised his plans and, even now, planning the best way to send Crawley straight back to hell…?

“Fine. It would be nice to take my mind off all of this, I suppose.”

Crawley relaxed. He was safe. And Aziraphale was making things easy. “Unless you wanted to stay and help?” he said airily.

Aziraphale looked scandalised and conflicted. “I can’t! It’s the _Plan_!”

“Ok.” Crawley shrugged, “It’s a shame the children have to die, though.”

Aziraphale said nothing. Crawley turned and slowly walked away, surreptitiously watching Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye. Aziraphale cast a guilty look around then subtly flexed his fingers. The nearest children vanished. Crawley grinned to himself. _Excellent._ Wiping the smile from his face, he turned back. “Are you coming, then?” he called, acting like he hadn’t seen anything at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**GOLGOTHA, JERUSALEM, 33AD**

Crowley was thrilled. For the past 32 years he’d watched from the side-lines as this man, this ‘Son of God’, grew up and now it was all finally, _finally_ coming to fruition. He had to admit to feeling a certain pang as he watched the man struggle to carry his cross, falling to his knees only to be whipped until he stood again – Crowley had liked him. He’d tried to befriend him; show him all the kingdoms of the world and wonders he could never dream of seeing himself but the man had rejected him much to Crowley’s displeasure – mostly because he’d looked forward to the effect a demon being friends with the Son of God would have had on Aziraphale, but he had to admit he also just quite liked being around humans and getting to know them.

It was quite boring being alone.

Still, it wouldn’t be for long. Crowley wasn’t entirely clear on whether this actually _was_ God’s son or just some random human heaven were playing with like a cat plays with a mouse; but either way he knew Aziraphale would not be happy about it. This would show him a darker side of heaven, one he didn’t want to believe in, and it would put him right in Crowley’s clutches. Heaven was practically doing his job for him.

He grinned wickedly as his eyes caught Aziraphale bringing up the rear of the procession. He kept his eyes on him as they reached their destination and the crucifixion properly began, and then he made his move.

“Come to smirk at the poor bugger have you?”

Aziraphale jumped, much to Crowley’s satisfaction, but didn’t rise to the bait.

“Smirk? Me?”

“Well, your lot put him on there.”

There it was. That small twitch of pain in Aziraphale’s face. That twitch that told Crowley this was going to go _wonderfully_.

“I am not consulted on policy decisions, Crawley.”

Oh yeah. That. “I’ve changed it.”

“Changed what?” Aziraphale was seemingly only half listening, his eyes fixed on the gruesome scene before them. With each hammer blow the uncertainty and pain in his eyes seem to grow and Crowley relished in it.

“My name. Crawley just wasn’t doing it for me. It’s a bit too squirming at your feet-ish.”

Aziraphale pulled a face. “Well you _were_ a snake. What is it now? Mephistopheles? Asmodeus?”

“Crowley.”

Aziraphale was refusing to look away from Jesus. Crowley had to be honest, he was impressed. In his experience, most angels liked to pretend the pain and suffering they caused wasn’t happening. Aziraphale would probably make quite a good demon.

“Did you uh…” Aziraphale glanced at him, “ever meet him?”

“Yes. Seemed like a very bright young man.” He hesitated, calculating. He looked at Aziraphale. “I showed him all the kingdoms of the world.”

“Why?” Aziraphale looked genuinely curious.

“He’s a carpenter from Galilee. His travel opportunities are limited.” Aziraphale looked faintly stricken at these words, looking back to the man on the cross, wincing at his cries of pain. Crowley fought down a smile. He could almost hear Aziraphale’s inner monologue, wondering how a demon could have done something nice whilst heaven allowed this to happen. Satan, angels were naïve. “What was it he said that got everyone so upset?”

“Be kind to each other.” Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley considered this.

“Oh yeah, that’ll do it.”

They stayed, silently, until the very end. Until the only other spectator was the man’s human mother, until he took his last shuddering breath. Crowley had to admit to feeling a sense of relief – watching people suffer wasn’t really his thing. It was one of the main reasons getting Aziraphale to Fall was so perfect for him, it would give him status without him having to cause pain.

“What will you do now?” He asked quietly. Aziraphale said nothing for several long moments.

“I don’t know.” He replied eventually. “I’ve not been given my next assignment yet.”

“Do you need to wait for one?” Crowley asked smoothly, his voice rich velvet. “You could just do your own thing for a while.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Seems to me like a lot of people around here could use a few miracles. I can already taste the despair Jesus’s death has caused to _so many_; it’d be such a shame if that continued.”

Aziraphale looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Why do you care? I would have thought you’d want despair and destruction.”

Crowley grimaced. He’d pushed too hard. _Ok. No harm done yet_. He rapidly backtracked. “Of course I do. Don’t misunderstand, I’m thrilled you just want to sit on your arse and do nothing until Gabriel whispers in your ear. I’m just saying it’s odd, is all. You could help people and you’re not. But,” he shrugged, “all the better for me. See you later, angel.” With that, he turned and sauntered off, feeling Aziraphale’s eyes on his back. He smirked.

**ROME, ITALY, 41AD**

_What’s the point in even being here_, Crowley thought miserably, _when humans are so terrible? I might as well not bother_. He sighed heavily, ordering something strong. Spending time with Caligula had made him feel…dirty. It wasn’t a good feeling. He needed to get very very drunk, very very quickly.

“Crawley…Crowley? Fancy running into you here!”

Crowley lit up, although he was careful not to show it. Aziraphale! Caligula must have really thrown him off his game, he hadn’t even realised the angel was in these parts. He’d had some vague notion he was in Asia somewhere, but he’d never been so pleased to be wrong. Bringing the angel down was just the distraction he needed.

“Still a demon then?” Aziraphale continued. Crowley felt irritation flare.

“What kind of a stupid question is that, ‘still a demon’, what else am I gonna be, an aardvark?” he snapped. As soon as he spoke he cursed himself – Aziraphale looked embarrassed and awkward, which wasn’t going to help things at all.

“Salutaria.” Aziraphale held up his cup.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, surprised, before clinking his own cup against the angel’s and taking a drink. It seemed as if Aziraphale wanted to engage him, wanted to spend time with him…socially? This was good. This was very good. It was something no _true_ angel should want.

“In Rome long?”

“Just nipped in for a quick temptation. You?”

“I thought I’d try Petronius’ new restaurant. I heard he does remarkable things to oysters.” Aziraphale sounded genuinely excited. Crowley didn’t really _get_ food. It was…fine. Nothing special.

“I’ve never eaten an oyster.”

To an outsider, Crowley thought, it probably looked like they were friends. He couldn’t help wondering what Aziraphale was getting from this interaction – or what he hoped to be getting. Crowley had assumed he’d have to chase Aziraphale to interact with him but here was the idiot making polite conversation and-

“Oh! Oh, well let me tempt you to-“

Crowley's mind screeched to a halt and he stared at Aziraphale in barely concealed delight. _What_?! This he had _not_ been expecting. Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he realised what he had just said.

“Oh, no. That’s…that’s your job, isn’t it.” He laughed awkwardly. Crowley smirked at him, taking a sip from his cup. _It’ll be your job too, soon enough. Don’t you worry_._ Lunch with a demon? What _would_ your superiors say_?

“I’ll try anything once.” He said. Aziraphale looked at him, looking surprised and a little bit pleased. “Let’s go, angel.” He imagined he could practically _see_ heaven’s light leaving Aziraphale, and it felt wonderful.

**PINHOE, ENGLAND, 1001**

“What the hell are you doing here?!” A voice hissed in Crowley’s ear. Crowley grinned. He’d gotten himself a pretty good viewpoint for the battle and he’d known it was only a matter of time before the angel showed up.

“Hello, Aziraphale! It’s been a while. Come to watch?”

“No, I…I’ve been told to observe and-“

“So you’ve come to watch. That’s literally what ‘observe’ means.” He rolled his eyes, looking away from the angel. “Who’s going to win?”

“I’m not supposed to get involved.” Aziraphale said crossly. “This is a battle between the humans. Heaven is not on either side. We didn’t do anything.”

“Aaaaand yet they’ve sent you along to keep an eye on things.” Crowley eyed the warring men critically. “My money’s on the Vikings.”

“Crowley!”

“What? You can see as well as I can that they’re going to win. And then I imagine they’ll lay waste to the place; raping, pillaging, burning. But hey, at least your hands are clean, right? Since you didn’t _start_ it.”

Aziraphale glared, resolutely not looking at Crowley. “My hands _are_ clean.”

“Are you sure?” Crowley whispered silkily. “You could intervene. Help them defend against the Viking attack. It wouldn’t take much, a small miracle here, a small miracle there…”

“No!” Aziraphale turned to face him, angry. “No, I will not, and I would thank you not to make such…such…_outrageous_ suggestions in future.” Without another word he spread his wings and took off rapidly into the sky. Crowley watched him go with a grimace.

“Damn.” He muttered. “Slightly overplayed that one.” He sighed. _Oh well. Plenty more chances. He’ll break, I’m sure of it_.

**LONDON, ENGLAND, 1349**

He found Aziraphale exactly where he thought he would; inside one of the many makeshift hospitals which had sprung up around the city. He moved amongst the sick and the dying, offering muttered prayers and comforting touches. Where he walked, the groans of pain quietened and people who had only moments before been shuddering in agony quietly dozed. The angel looked up and caught sight of him; his face flickering through emotions rapidly – surprise, delight, suspicion – and he made his way over.

“Crowley.” He said quietly. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you?” Crowley retorted. Aziraphale sighed, looking back at the sick.

“I’m helping, where I can. Easing their suffering.”

“But not curing anyone.”

The tips of Aziraphale’s ears went red. “I’ve been told not to.” He said angrily. “Apparently we can’t have people ‘miraculously recovering’; nature has to take its course.”

“Blimey. Bit of a change from the old party line.” Crowley frowned, scanning the sick. “What happened to the whole ‘offering salvation to the faithful’ thing? I can hear several of them praying right now.”

“They need to find a cure themselves.” Aziraphale explained tightly. “It’s the Plan. It’s-”

“Ineffable, I know. I really need to teach you some new words.”

“So, why _are_ you here?” Aziraphale asked again. He glanced at Crowley. “Please tell me this wasn’t you.”

“It wasn’t me.” Crowley growled. “This is…horrible.”

“You’re a demon, you like horrible.”

“Not like this.” Crowley shook his head. “Never like this.” This was worse than anything he could have come up with, and he felt genuinely offended Aziraphale thought he was capable of this. This level of cruelty was far beyond him. _Like the cruelty of making an innocent being Fall_. Crowley grimaced, pushing that thought from his mind. Aziraphale was an _angel_. He was far from innocent.

“Crowley-“

Crowley started forwards, then, and laid a hand on the forehead of a woman in the nearest bed. He muttered a few words in a long forgotten language. After a moment, her scabs and boils began to fade and her fevered mutterings stopped as she drifted into sleep.

“There now.” He whispered, running his hand through her hair.

“You…did you just heal her?” Aziraphale demanded, shocked. Crowley glared at him.

“Yes, I did. Me. A demon. And what does that tell you about heaven if they’re stopping you from doing the same?” with that, he stalked out of the hospital - leaving Aziraphale gazing after him with a conflicted look on his face - anger and triumph warring in his chest.

**BRISTOL, ENGLAND, 1406**

Crowley sat in the corner of the tavern, watching. He’d been subtly observing Aziraphale for a few days now, and he felt the moment to strike was almost upon him. He watched the angel at the bar, deep in conversation with some bookish looking human. They were sat slightly too close together than one would expect and Crowley wasn’t sure what he should make of that. The man leant slightly closer and laid a hand on Aziraphale’s wrist. Crowley stood and drained his tankard, deciding now was the time to intervene.

“Hello, Aziraphale!” he said jovially, pulling up a seat beside him. He’d been expecting Aziraphale to look shocked, or angry, or at least slightly taken aback. Instead, he raised an eyebrow.

“Crowley. I’ve been wondering when you’d come over. It’s been, what, three days?”

“…four.” Crowley corrected sulkily. “Pretty much four. Ish.”

“I stand corrected.” Aziraphale turned to his companion. “We’ll continue this conversation later, my dear, I do apologise but I must catch up with my f…acquaintance. You understand.”

The man looked Crowley up and down. “…sure.” He muttered, getting up and leaving rather abruptly. Aziraphale sighed.

“Oh dear, I do hope I haven’t offended him.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I _like_ him. I enjoy his company. Honestly, Crowley, you must spend some time getting to know humanity.”

“I know as much as I need to.” Crowley grimaced. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“What brings you to this part of the world, anyway?”

“Oh, you know. Minor temptations, civil unrest, the usual. Got a couple of farmers in a land dispute and if it goes the right way we’ll end up with at least half a dozen new souls.”

“I’m not even going to ask how.” Aziraphale grimaced. “So why have you been stalking me? I’m not interested in any farmers.”

Crowley smirked. “Well. Neither am I.”

“So…?”

“So, I’ve been thinking. About this whole ‘keeping out of each other’s way’ thing.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale frowned.

Crowley leaned in close. “What say we…tweak it a little? A new Arrangement.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “How so?”

“Well, if you think about it, we’re both here. In this area of the world. Seems to me that maybe only one of us needs to stick around.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You could influence a land dispute just as easily as I can.” Crowley said meaningfully.

Horrified understanding flashed across Aziraphale’s face. “Crowley, I will not do hell’s work for you!”

“I’m not saying that, I’m saying…ok, I am saying that, but not how you mean. We could…help each other out. You do a few temptations from time to time, I’ll do a few blessings and miracles and yada yada yada. Makes life a lot easier. It would give you more time to…socialise. Enjoy humanity. Try new things.”

Aziraphale frowned, looking down at his drink and saying nothing. Crowley smiled wickedly to himself. _Got you_.


	4. Chapter 4

**HAMBURG, GERMANY, 1473**

Crowley coughed, grimacing at the blood which spattered the ground before him. He’d been stupid. _Stupid_. And now he was going to have to explain how he’d allowed himself to get discorporated for _no goddamn reason_. His vision swam and he pushed himself into a corner, listening to the shouts from outside as the searchers went from house to house. He’d managed to take refuge in someone’s barn but it wouldn’t be long until they found him and then it was Poof! Goodbye Crowley, goodbye earth, hello mountain of never-ending paperwork. He wasn’t even _doing_ anything, that was the worst of it. If he’d been doing something demonic then fair enough but he’d been wandering the market, minding his own business, and now they were trying to discorporate him.

“Well. This is interesting.”

Crowley jumped (although he’d deny it if anybody asked). “Sssshow yourself!” he hissed. Aziraphale stepped from the shadows, looking at Crowley curiously. Oh this was just bloody perfect. He had to run in to the angel now, when he was vulnerable, with humans chasing him.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley groaned, eyeing the angel warily. “What are you even doing here?”

“You’re injured.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Crowley coughed again, wiping blood from his lips. His head was swimming.

“What happened?”

Crowley shrugged. “Nothing, I wasn’t _doing_ anything. I was just in the market and some woman bumped in to me and...my glasses came off, they saw my eyes. Next thing I know everyone’s shrieking about demon possession and they tried to exorcise me.”

Aziraphale’s lip quirked. “They tried to…exorcise you…from your own body?”

“Yeah, haha, laugh it up.” He winced and the amusement vanished from Aziraphale’s face.

“An exorcism shouldn’t do this to you.” He said, frowning.

“There was a blessing involved.” Crowley grimaced, blinking to clear his foggy vision.

“Ah.” Aziraphale was watching him, a peculiar expression on his face. “Does it hurt?”

“What the bloody hell do you think?” Crowley growled. Aziraphale took a step towards him and Crowley reared back, baring his teeth in a snarl. “Sssstay back, angel.”

“I hardly think I need to do anything, you’ll be discorporated as soon as they find you.” Aziraphale pointed out. Crowley glared at him, then relaxed back with a small whine.

“Yeah, fair point.” He closed his eyes. “See you when I see you, then.” Bloody angel. He would _definitely_ make a good demon, he must be getting some sort of enjoyment out of watching Crowley suffer or he wouldn’t have come. He’d make a point of that to Beelzebub; it might help speed up his return to earth if he could show them how close he was. He’d heard there had been a meeting between Beelzebub and Gabriel and rumour had it it had _not_ gone well. No doubt the lord of hell would be _itching_ to show heaven who was really in control. He suddenly felt Aziraphale’s hands on him and his eyes flew open in alarm. _Stupid_. It occurred to him that Aziraphale would be more than capable of _destroying_ him in this state. Why, _why_ had he been so caught up in the thought of discorporation and paperwork that he had not seen this coming?

“There now.” Aziraphale let go of him and stepped away.

“What are you…?” Crowley abruptly leant forwards and vomited. Aziraphale grimaced.

“Sorry. Ethereal transportation can be a bit…well.” He waved a hand and cleared the mess up. Crowley slowly raised his head, only now realising they weren’t in the barn anymore.

“But what- why did you- where are we?”

“London.” He looked around the room they were in. “I think it used to be a shop, abandoned now of course.” He raised an eyebrow. “I trust you can recuperate from a blessing here with no one hunting you?”

“Yes, I…probably.” Crowley frowned. “I don’t- why…?”

“I’d better be getting back to work.” Aziraphale said primly. “Limited window of opportunity to push in the right direction, you know how it is.”

“Sure. Sure.” Crowley blinked. “So back to Germany then.”

“Oh, goodness no, I’m in the middle of guiding a bishop up in the north of England. Funny little man, just needs a bit of a nudge to stop your lot getting him.” He clapped his hands together. “Right! I’ll be off then.”

“Hmm.” Crowley closed his eyes when the full meaning of Aziraphale’s words filtered through the fog in his brain and they sprang open again. “England?”

Aziraphale half turned back towards him. “What was that?”

“If you’re working in England, what were you doing over in Hamburg?”

For a long moment, Aziraphale said nothing and Crowley thought he wasn’t going to get an answer.

“You were injured.” He said eventually, and swept out of the door. Crowley stared after him, feeling oddly hollow. That wasn’t an answer at all. Was it?

**DORDRECHT, HOLLAND, 1552**

He spotted Aziraphale quickly; the angel was peering out of the window of the tavern where so many had taken shelter. Everyone else was grouped together; Aziraphale was the only one alone. He looked…sad. Crowley sidled up to him.

“They’re saying it’s the end times.” He murmured. Aziraphale jumped, quickly schooling his face into polite indifference.

“Crowley. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Do you think it is?”

Aziraphale scoffed. “No, it’s far too early for that.”

They watched the storm outside for a while. Large hailstones fell, causing damage as far as Crowley could see. He knew without thinking about it that there would be several dead already, and countless properties and possessions destroyed. Probably some people left homeless. Alone. Scared. He said as much to Aziraphale and the angel looked at him, face pale.

“This wasn’t my side.” He whispered defiantly, but Crowley caught the hint of uncertainty in his voice. “It couldn’t have been.”

“Oh, of course, because the Almighty has _never_ used the weather to punish humanity.” Crowley said sarcastically. Aziraphale flushed.

“I’d have been _told_.”

“Would you?”

“I-”

Aziraphale looked away. Crowley watched him carefully. The angel looked worried, and Crowley wondered if he should comfort him. It wasn’t very demonic. He inched closer, so he was standing just a bit too close.

“You know,” He whispered in Aziraphale’s ear, feeling the angel shiver, “There are a lot of people with a lot of money who aren’t being affected by this. It’d help a lot with the clean-up. Help get people back on their feet…”

“Are you suggesting I _steal_?!”

“No!” Crowley protested smoothly. “I’m suggesting they could…donate. Could be _persuaded_ to donate…”

Aziraphale swallowed. “You want me to…tempt people…into giving away their money?”

“_You_ want it. Not me. They don’t need it. These people do.” Crowley trailed a finger up and down Aziraphale’s arm. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“I can’t.” Aziraphale shuddered and moved away from Crowley. “Tempting is never the right thing.” He said, sounding painfully uncertain.

“Isn’t it?” Aziraphale looked at him, meeting his eyes. Crowley held his gaze. “You’ve done it before. _The Arrangement_. You’re good at it.”

“That’s different, that’s…” Aziraphale licked his lips, looking around nervously. “Those were _your jobs_. They’d have been done anyway even if I didn’t…what you’re suggesting now…” he looked hopefully back at the demon. “I don’t suppose you’d consider…?”

“Not a chance, angel. I’ve got my own things to deal with.”

Aziraphale turned away, looking stricken. “I don’t think my side would approve…”

“And what about them?” Crowley indicated a group of humans huddled in the corner, praying. “Would they approve? Would _you_?”

“My dear…” Aziraphale whispered. “I…” he took a steadying breath and abruptly stepped away. “I should go. Storms abating. Lovely talking to you.” He stepped out into the hail, which was still coming down but with much less ferocity and with smaller stones. Crowley watched him go, frowning. _My dear_? When did that start? It felt strangely…natural. Crowley growled, following the angel outside and, after a quick demonic miracle to make sure no one saw, spread his wings and took flight.

Two months later he found himself back in the area and discovered that there had been some substantial donations from land owners in neighbouring cities less affected by the storm and that recovery was going well because of it.

Crowley spent the next two weeks celebrating.

**LONDON, ENGLAND, 1603**

Crowley couldn’t help smiling when he finally spotted Aziraphale through the crowds. He pushed his way over, prodding the angel in the back as soon as he was close enough. Aziraphale turned with a scowl which immediately morphed into a grin when he saw Crowley. That was new, Aziraphale being so happy to see him. It had been a long time since the angel had greeted him with anger and distrust, true, but still he’d never seemed _happy_ before.

“Crowley! What are you doing here?”

“Coronations are always a good excuse for a party, and I love a party.”

“Oh, it is wonderful isn’t it?” Aziraphale gushed. His face was slightly flushed, and Crowley had the distinct impression he’d already indulged in a fair few drinks. He smirked. Tipsy suited the angel.

“People do seem to be having fun.” He agreed. Aziraphale suddenly leaned close, eyes wide.

“Oh, please don’t spoil it, Crowley. Let them enjoy themselves.”

“Relax, angel, I’m not here to mess anything up. My lot are completely indifferent to James being on the throne, I’m honestly just here to have a good time.”

Aziraphale smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling and Crowley’s stomach gave a strange sort of tug. “Oh! Good. I’ll find you a drink, come on.” Aziraphale caught hold of Crowley’s wrist loosely and pulled him through the throng. Crowley glanced down curiously, wondering when such casual touches had become commonplace for the angel. His tempting was paying off; Aziraphale was certainly becoming far less uptight as the centuries wore on. In truth, Crowley had imagined Hell would have him by now but Aziraphale had proved surprisingly resilient to Crowley’s efforts. But perhaps this was a good sign that things were finally going his way.

It felt...good.

Aziraphale interrupted his thoughts by thrusting a cup of wine under his nose.

“It’s not great but it’s not bad.” He said apologetically. “I considered making it slightly more palatable but, well, can’t be performing too many miracles can I?”

“Of course you can.” Crowley retorted automatically, flexing his fingers and taking a sip of what he was sure was far better than whatever had been in the cup when Aziraphale handed it to him. Aziraphale frowned at him with amused exasperation.

“Oh, honestly.” He chided, before subtly flexing his own fingers and taking a drink. “Ah. That is superb.”

“You should listen to me more often angel.”

“Perhaps I should.” Aziraphale looked at him and Crowley felt suddenly flustered. He cleared his throat.

“Anyway, we should look around. Enjoy the party. Not every day England gets a new king and neither of our sides is particularly invested in it. Makes a nice change.”

Aziraphale agreed, and they spent several very pleasant hours drinking and talking and enjoying the _humanity_ of the whole event. Crowley did his best to encourage Aziraphale to perform tiny miracles, delighting in his success every time Aziraphale took a drink from an improved cup of wine or mildly inconvenienced someone making a nuisance of themselves. Eventually they found themselves sat upon a rooftop (with no earthly way they could have made it up there) watching the people mill around below them. Dusk was falling and the sky was smudged with purples and reds as the sun went down.

“I’ll say one thing for humans. They certainly know how to celebrate.” Crowley said, taking a swig from a bottle of something alcoholic (he’d long ago lost track of what he was drinking).

“They can get a bit carried away,” Aziraphale replied; taking a drink from his own bottle, “but it is nice to see them enjoy themselves.”

“Hmm.” Crowley was just about to suggest they get back down and join in again with the festivities when Aziraphale sighed contentedly and rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley went very still, a peculiar feeling in his chest.

“I don’t want this evening to end.” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley glanced at the top of Aziraphale’s head. His hair was tickling Crowley’s cheek and there was a faint scent of perfume or oil coming from him which Crowley hadn’t noticed until now and for some reason caused his heart to stutter slightly. Suddenly, influencing Aziraphale into doing things seemed completely unimportant. The work seemed completely unimportant. It was a confusing feeling.

Crowley hesitated, then rested his cheek softly against Aziraphale’s head, wondering if he was about to get pushed away. Aziraphale tensed slightly, then relaxed with another sigh. Crowley swallowed heavily, trying to ignore the swirling feeling inside him, the craving for _something_ which he couldn’t quite place. _Me neither_, he realised, but he didn't speak.

Neither of them moved for a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**LONDON, ENGLAND, 1604**

The stars really were beautiful.

Crowley had always thought so, even back when he was one of those with a hand in creating them; back when he wasn’t supposed to take pride in his work because pride was a sin. All of creation was supposed to be equally beautiful, but Crowley had never agreed with that; he’d always had a soft spot for the stars, especially the ones he’d designed himself.

They were just as beautiful now, tonight, as he gazed up into the night and picked out the stars that no mortal eye could see, still burning just as brightly as when they’d first been hung in the sky. As a demon he wasn’t supposed to appreciate things like this. He wasn’t supposed to appreciate the stars, or fine wine, or plants, or music, and he _definitely_ wasn’t supposed to appreciate angels who called him ‘my dear’ and casually touched him and smiled brighter than those stars.

Not that he did appreciate the angel, of course.

He hadn’t seen Aziraphale since the night of James I coronation, something about that night was just too confusing and made it hard to focus. Crowley wasn’t sure what it was. He still wanted Aziraphale to fall - _I'm sure I do _\- but now every time he thought of it he felt an uncomfortable burning in his chest and remembered his own fall.

_Just for asking questions. Just for being me. Just for loving the stars._

One of the worst things about Falling, apart from the searing pain, was how you _almost_ remembered. You could remember that you had felt Her love, but not what it felt like. You could remember that you were part of a collective group and that it had felt warm and safe, but you couldn’t remember the actual feeling. You could remember your Name, but you couldn’t remember what it had meant. Everything you had and everything you were was burned away.

Everything Aziraphale was would burn away.

And that was _fine_. Even as Crowley’s stomach churned, he told himself that it was _fine_. He didn’t know what was going on with him, or why he avoided the angel for the past six months, or why he kept dwelling on things but it had nothing to do with his plan. It was _fine_.

With a hiss of frustration, he flung himself up and swooped down off the roof.

**HELL, 1604 (EARTH YEARS)**

“Demon Crowley, report.”

“My lord Beelzebub.” Crowley said smoothly. “Report. Yes.”

“How isz our project coming along? You promised me results by now.” Beelzebub leant forwards, expression sombre. “I’ve given you resources, Crowley.” They murmured dangerously, “I’ve made allowances for you to stay up on Earth. Hastur’s been asking questions and he’s not the only one. I’m running out of excusesz and I’m running out of patience. I did not give you permission to hang around upstairs enjoying yourself.”

“No, my lord, of course not.” Crowley cleared his throat. “It’s all going…er…marvelloussssly.” He coughed lightly, “Marvellously. He…he likes me. I think he even trustssss me.”

Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed. “Well, szee that it continues. If I don’t see results, and I mean _very_ soon, I’m calling the whole thing off and bringing you back down here. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly, my lord.” With a low bow, Crowley exited the room and headed for the stairs back up to earth. He couldn’t repress the shudder that ran through him as he brushed against a demon heading the other way. Call him back down here. Down _here_? For _eternity_? Time wasn’t really a concept back when he’d Fallen so he couldn’t really say how long he’d spent in the dark and the damp but he knew it wasn’t something he wanted to go through again. He wanted sunlight and plants and wine and Azira…people to talk to. People who liked the things he did, and didn’t turn every conversation into how something could be used to torture or maim or destroy. _Once Aziraphale Falls, I won’t have to worry about it. They’ll let me go where I want. Armageddon will come, of course, but not for a long time so I can enjoy myself until then, and afterwards I can stay up on earth and I can start again if I choose. With sun, and plants, and wine. _

_And me. Alone._

He growled, shaking his head. _No. Not alone. They’ll respect me; they’ll follow me, some of them anyway._

_Will _he_ follow me?_

Crowley walked outside into what was now daylight, and paused in the middle of the street. Would Aziraphale – or whoever he would be After – follow him like the others? He, Crowley, had come through his Fall relatively intact compared to some and he still loved the stars he’d loved as an angel. It made sense, therefore, that Aziraphale could still love the theatre, and wine, and fine dining. Perhaps he would want to stay on earth with Crowley…

Not that it mattered if he did or didn’t.

Crowley didn’t care.

Aziraphale was just an angel. It wasn’t as if they were actually _friends_. Crowley didn’t actually _like_ him, it was just a job, just tempting and coercing and…

“Crowley!”

He looked up and smiled.

“Angel. Hello.”

Aziraphale didn’t return the smile. His expression was fixed and steely. “I’ve just been making a report to head office, you…foul fiend. I assume you were doing the same?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Well, since we’re both here…” Aziraphale looked around, checking their surroundings in case anyone was paying attention. No-one was. He lowered his voice and his face softened into a small smile. “…lunch?” Aziraphale sounded slightly nervous, and Crowley’s smile turned into a grin.

“Sounds great. Lead the way.”

Ok, so maybe he enjoyed the angel's company. Did it matter? So he enjoyed his work, it wasn’t that unusual. It certainly didn’t _mean_ anything.


	6. Chapter 6

**PARIS, FRANCE, 1793**

_Something’s changed_, Crowley thought as he watched Aziraphale finish off his crepes with a look of pure pleasure on his face, _what is it_?

It had been several decades since he’d seen the angel and he seemed undeniably…different. Freer, more confident, more at ease with himself and his surroundings. It was a good look on him. Crowley looked down at his own crepe with a frown. He had to _focus_. He wasn’t here to socialise or admire the angel; he was here to do a _job_. He glanced back up at his companion.

Aziraphale was watching him with something akin to hunger in his expression. When Crowley caught his eye he flushed slightly, gave Crowley a small smile, and looked back at his food. Crowley felt a sudden unexplainable surge of panic. He looked hurriedly away again.

“We should really be getting back.” He said.

“Must we?”

“Your lot might wonder where you’ve got to.”

“So? Let them.” Crowley stared back at him, startled. Aziraphale shrugged, a small smile playing about his lips. “I’ll just tell them I had to…save some innocent from your fiendish plans or something.”

“You’d _lie_?” Crowley asked, torn between amusement and concern. Something had _definitely_ changed in Aziraphale and Crowley wasn’t sure what to do about it. There had been moments earlier, back in the Bastille, where he was convinced the angel was actually _flirting_ with him. And now this – not only lying, but lying to _heaven_...he’d lied to them before, of course, but he’d never been quite so blasé about it.

“It’s not exactly a lie, more an…omission of the truth.” Aziraphale gestured vaguely. “Besides, I can’t go back yet. No more frivolous miracles, remember?”

“How did you even get to France in the first place if you didn’t use a miracle?”

“On a boat, how do you think?” Aziraphale asked, as if Crowley was an idiot.

“You took a boat. Just to get some food.” Crowley sighed fondly. "Only you, angel." He slapped a hand lightly on the table. “I guess we’d better see if we can get somewhere to stay, then. Try and get passage back in the morning.” He saw Aziraphale’s eyes flick over him in surprise before the angel went back to finishing his crepes and he frowned. _We_. There was absolutely no reason for him to stay and they both knew it, but still…_we._

They tried a few places, none of whom had vacancies, until at last they happened upon a small guesthouse. Aziraphale went to talk to the proprietor and returned clutching a key.

“They’ve only got the one room.” Aziraphale said apologetically. Crowley shrugged.

“That’s alright. I should probably be heading back anyway; it’s not like I can’t use frivolous miracles. They’re positively encouraged.” He grinned. Aziraphale’s face fell slightly, but he quickly recovered and nodded.

“Right. Good point.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you upstairs. No reason we can’t have a drink before I go.” Crowley turned for the staircase leading up to the room Aziraphale had rented.

The room was small, and probably not worth what Aziraphale had paid for it, but at least it was clean. Crowley sniffed. Clean enough anyway. He turned, waving a hand, and a nearby wine cellar suddenly found itself with one less bottle than it had had before. Crowley popped the cork and took a long drink.

“No glasses?” Aziraphale asked sardonically. Crowley raised an eyebrow and handed him the wine.

“What’s the matter, angel, afraid you’ll catch something?”

Aziraphale took the bottle from him and swigged, his eyes not leaving Crowley’s. Then he set it down and took a deliberate step closer to Crowley.

“I know you said not to thank you for the rescue, my dear, but I really must.”

“Angel-”

“I won’t go on about it, but…well, thank you. I mean it. Gabriel would have been furious, he’d probably have found some obscure form I had to fill out in triplicate before he’d let me come back.”

“What are friends for?” Crowley said awkwardly. Aziraphale was regarding him with that peculiar hungry expression again.

“What indeed?” The angel mused. He picked up the bottle again and drank, looking suddenly nervous. He handed it back to Crowley and sat down on the edge of the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, Crowley joined him. They sat there in slightly awkward silence for a while, passing each other the wine (which seemed to last far longer than it should given its size). Eventually, Crowley decided the bottle had probably run out, and found that it had, so he set it carefully on the floor.

“I’d better be off, then, angel.”

“Oh?”

Crowley smiled fondly at Aziraphale’s tone. “We both need to rest.”

“You could stay here?” Aziraphale suggested quietly. Crowley shook his head.

“Nah, you’re alright. Won’t take me long to get back.”

“No, I mean…” There was a small intake of breath. Aziraphale reached out a tentative hand and brushed his fingers across Crowley’s, entwining them. “I mean you could _stay here_. With me.”

Crowley’s eyes widened and he felt himself growing hot, a tugging sensation in his lower abdomen. “…Oh.” He croaked out. He'd never thought about Aziraphale in this way before, hadn't _let_ himself, could he really be...? Crowley swallowed heavily and looked at Aziraphale. “Angel…what exactly are you suggesting here?” he asked carefully. Aziraphale inched closer.

“I’m suggesting you could…tempt me.”

“Tempt you?” Crowley was finding it strangely hard to breath. He glanced down at Aziraphale’s lips. “Would it work?”

“I rather think it would.” Aziraphale said softly, breath hot on Crowley’s face. Crowley pressed his forehead against Aziraphale’s, desire coursing through him. He knew what he _should_ do. He should kiss him, tempt him into the most lustful acts he could think of, drag Aziraphale down as thoroughly as he could. He should give in to the lust running through his veins and take exactly what he desired. That’s what he _should_ do. As for what he _wanted_…? Unbidden, images crashed through Crowley’s mind. _A smile…a laugh…blue eyes crinkled in delight…fingers brushing…a head on his shoulder…blonde curls tickling his cheek…a breathy sigh…“I don’t want this night to end”…_Crowley closed his eyes as, for the first time in his long life, shame prickled up his spine, shame about what he'd done. _Oh. Oh no._ He wanted _Aziraphale_. Exactly as he was. Pure. Whole.

_Completely unattainable._

“Then I can’t.” he said softly. _I won’t do that to you._ “I won’t tempt you to lust.”

“_Is_ it lust?” Aziraphale wondered, and Crowley didn’t know what that meant so he didn’t reply.

“You’re drunk, Aziraphale.” He said instead, “You need to sleep.”

Aziraphale froze, and slowly pulled back. “Crowley, I-” horrified embarrassment was blooming on the angel’s face at the apparent rejection. Crowley carefully cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands.

“Shh, no, no, no. Don’t do that. Don’t apologise. Come here.” He lay down and gently tugged Aziraphale with him so they were lying with his head on Crowley’s chest. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, pushing a small demonic miracle and feeling Aziraphale relax into sleep almost instantly as it took effect. He tightened his hold on the angel briefly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m sorry.” Extracting himself, he got up and left the room without looking back. _I don’t want him to Fall,_ he thought wildly, _when did that happen_?

It wasn’t love. It _wasn’t_. It couldn’t be _love_. He cared for Aziraphale, yes, but…Crowley growled to himself, rubbing a hand tiredly through his hair. He needed to stay away from Aziraphale, just for a while. Maybe sleep for a few decades. And then, surely, all this ‘feelings’ nonsense would be over and he could get back to corrupting and sinning.

Of course, it was never going to be that easy.

At first, it seemed to have worked. Crowley awoke feeling…if not quite back to ‘normal’ then close enough. He sent a message to Aziraphale asking to meet in the park, matters to discuss – Crowley had awoken to several messages from hell asking about his progress and felt like he should really take matter into his own hands – and idled away some time sticking money to pavements and making people trip up over thin air. He was enjoying himself again.

Until they actually talked.

“…I’m not giving you a suicide pill, Crowley!”

Crowley grimaced. “That’s not what I want it for, just…insurance.” He needed Aziraphale to understand. If hell was going to take him he was going to take as many demons as he could down with him.

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley!” _aren’t you?_ “Do you know what trouble I’d get in to if they knew I’d been…_fraternising_? It’s completely out of the question.”

Crowley stared, for some reason completely derailed. That…actually hurt. Far more than _not love_ had any right to. “Fraternising?” he growled.

“Well, whatever you wish to call it.” Aziraphale snapped, flustered. “I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.”

This was the point where Crowley should move the conversation on, charm Aziraphale, flatter him, appeal to his vices and gently corrupt him until he could tempt him into giving Crowley exactly what he wanted. Holy water, and Aziraphale several more steps down the ladder to hell. It's exactly what the Crowley of a few hundred years ago would have done.

“I have lots of other people to ‘fraternise’ with, angel.” He spat out, face taught and angry.

“Of course you do.” Aziraphale snapped, glaring.

“I don’t need you.”

“Well the feeling is mutual! Obviously.” Aziraphale turned on his heel, flinging the scrap of paper Crowley had handed him into the pond where it fluttered pathetically down to the water before bursting into flames.

“Obviously.” Crowley said mockingly, turning away from the angel. The fury coursing through him was intermixed with feelings of overwhelming sadness and Crowley wondered if he might cry. He’d never done before, but he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t burst if he didn’t find some sort of outlet for these emotions. He quickly transported himself to his flat where he raged and screamed and smashed a few things (and, yes, maybe tears fell but there was no one around to see it so maybe they didn’t after all.)

_Fuck_.

This couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let this happen. He was a _demon_ for fuck’s sake. A demon who was going to _mean_ something. Aziraphale had to Fall, no matter what Crowley’s feelings on the matter, it was the only possible thing to do, the only way for Crowley to save himself.

_But I don't want to._

With a heavy heart, Crowley waved a hand to undo his destruction and went back to bed. He couldn’t handle this right now, he needed more sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**LONDON, ENGLAND, 1902**

Crowley had awoken with one simple goal in mind.

_Aziraphale **will** fall_.

He’d let himself get distracted, let himself get attached, but that ended _now_. In the grand scheme of things, Aziraphale didn’t matter. Crowley didn’t matter either, of course, but that would change. The only thing standing between him and infamy was the angel.

And so Crowley had _planned_. He’d spent too long trying the gentle approach, that was the problem. He had to go at this with both barrels, push as hard as he could until Aziraphale had no choice but to give. And then it would be _over_.

There was a restaurant, not too far from Crowley’s flat. The owner was frail, his daughter was sick, and the landlord was trying to evict them because they were behind on rent. It was like something out of a terrible tragic play. If Crowley could get Aziraphale to go there, he could whisper in the angel’s ear…could heaven object to the girl being healed…would it really matter if the man came into some money…think how happy the community would be if the restaurant flourished…if the landlord left them alone…if he were to just…_disappear_…and there were lots of terrible people in London, in the rest of the country, in the world, causing suffering to millions…and heaven did _nothing_…Aziraphale could do something…make a difference…if he just reached out and _did something_…

From there it would be a cascade, he was sure of it. The angel was made of perfect tightly wound threads and Crowley knew he could pick and unravel every single one until there was nothing left of who Aziraphale had been, until he was _new_ and _demonic_ and…

…and broken.

Crowley growled, slapping himself on the side of the head and forcing the thought from his mind. Aziraphale deserved this. Of course he did. He deserved it more than Crowley had done. Now all he needed to do was to find the bastard.

That proved easier than Crowley was expecting. Apparently Aziraphale’s bookshop was still going strong, and he spotted the angel through the window as soon as he made his approach. He looked…well, he looked almost exactly the same as when Crowley had last seen him. Crowley felt a small wobble of indecision and for the briefest of moments considered turning around but then he shook some sense into himself. It didn’t matter how he felt, didn’t matter that the sight of the angel made his heart flutter slightly or his palms start to sweat. Aziraphale was the adversary at the end of the day and _that_ was what mattered. Taking a breath, he stepped inside the shop to the cheerful tinkle of a bell. Aziraphale turned, a smile on his face which died almost instantly.

“I’m sorry, we’re…Crowley.”

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

“What, er…what are you doing here?” Aziraphale took a step back and folded his arms. Crowley noticed he formed a subtly defensive posture as if ready to fight. He ignored the hurt that spiked at that.

“I want to apologise, angel.” Crowley said silkily. “I should never have asked you what I did. The…holy water.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked surprised, and a little awkward. “Oh, I…” His eyes narrowed. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“I didn’t expect you would have done.”

“And I’m not going to.”

“I know.”

Aziraphale cocked his head to one side. “So you came because…?”

“I was hoping we could put the whole thing behind us…?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale gave him an impenetrable look and Crowley found himself wishing he’d never started this whole thing. After a long pause, Aziraphale’s face relaxed into a smile.

“Yes, I…I would like that.”

Crowley smiled back, his heart aching. “Good. Me too. I was thinking we could go to lunch, there’s a lovely little restaurant not too far from here-”

“Crowley I must apologise as well.” Aziraphale said quickly. It was Crowley’s turn to be surprised.

“What for?”

“When you asked me…when we spoke. I may have…I chose my words poorly. I didn’t mean to imply that you were…we were…well.”

Any trace of a smile on Crowley’s face rapidly died. “I can’t even remember what you said.” He lied smoothly. Aziraphale met his eyes and Crowley suddenly found it harder to breathe.

“Well I can. And I’m sorry, my dear. I _do_ value our…um…connection.”

“…right.”

“Oh dear, now I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’ll shut up.”

“No, I…it’s…thank you.” Crowley swallowed heavily. Aziraphale offered him a tentative smile and held out an arm. Crowley took it and they left the shop together, heading towards the restaurant. Crowley glanced sidelong at Aziraphale as they walked. There was a shy, pleased look on his face. Crowley wondered how he’d look at him once he’d Fallen. Would Crowley even see him again, or would Aziraphale become one of the faceless masses oozing around hell? Would they be friends?

Would he even _want_ that?

“Wait.” He tugged Aziraphale’s arm, stopping them. Aziraphale looked at him, confused.

“I thought we were going to lunch?”

Crowley closed his eyes, steeling himself. “I…” he took a breath. _Keep going. Do it. It’ll all be over soon_. “I just remembered, I…can’t. Important work to be getting to.”

Aziraphale bristled, pulling his arm away. “If you don’t want to have lunch with me why did you suggest it?”

“Oh don’t be like that.”

“I don’t understand, you come to my shop, you say you’re over the whole thing, you invite me to-” Aziraphale gave a gasp of realisation and he jabbed Crowley in the chest with a finger. “You…you were never apologising at all, were you? This is just you manipulating me!”

“I’m not manipulating you!” Crowley growled.

“Just go away, Crowley. I meant it when I said I didn’t need you.”

“Fine. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye then.” Aziraphale turned and walked away, but not before Crowley saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. He threw up his hands in contempt and stalked away himself. _Stupid angel. Stupid, infuriating, bastard angel. _This wasn’t him abandoning the plan. Of course it wasn’t. It just wasn’t the best way to go about making him Fall that was all.

He’d miscalculated.

Come up with a bad plan.

That was all.

**LONDON, ENGLAND, 1941**

“Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot all the books! They’ll be blown to…”

Crowley set his glasses carefully back on his face. They could leave now; Aziraphale would never know what Crowley had done when the bomb fell. it had been a simple matter, really, to influence things this way. Shaping events just-so so that Aziraphale ended up in the Nazi’s path and got swept along in the deception. Then of course it was all up to Crowley to come and save the day, get Aziraphale to use his powers to save the both of them, chalk one up to Crowley dragging Aziraphale slightly further from heaven’s grasp.

The books had not been part of the plan.

Crowley had noticed them a split second before the bomb hit and thrown up his own small demonic miracle before he really thought about it; knowing how devastated Aziraphale would be to lose them. It had seemed so simple coming up with this hypothetical plan; convincing himself he was over whatever momentary blip had caused those…emotions towards the angel. But seeing him again here, in the flesh, had changed all that. However hard Crowley tried to justify saving the books of prophecy the truth was he’d done it because he wanted to make Aziraphale happy. And that was bad. Very bad. It would be better if Aziraphale never found out about it.

So of course he strode across the ground and plucked the bag from the dead man’s hand before handing it to Aziraphale, their fingers just brushing. Aziraphale was staring at him like he was properly seeing him for the first time and it _hurt_. As did the blinding realisation that he’d failed. Completely and utterly failed. He couldn’t make Aziraphale fall.

He wouldn’t make Aziraphale fall.

It was over.

“Lift home?” he offered, sounding far more casual than he felt, turning quickly before Aziraphale could see his expression. He could feel the angel’s gaze on his back and it took all his strength not to turn around because he had a feeling that if he saw Aziraphale’s expression right now then he might do something stupid.

Like kiss him.

Much safer to just keep walking, the lingering pain in his feet serving as both a warning and a punishment for the way things had gone.

**HELL, 1988 (EARTH YEARS)**

“Crowley. I’ve not heard from you in szome time.” Beelzebub glared at him. “I want a progresz report. Now.”

“Progressss…right. Um.” Crowley scratched his hand nervously. “It’s going…well. Really well.”

“I don’t see any other Fallen angels here, do you?” Beelzebub said dangerously. “Seems to me if it was going well it would have _succeeded_ by now. You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you, Crowley?”

“No my lord. Absssolutely not. It’s just…taking longer than I thought. But we’ll get him, that…smooth angel bastard.”

“See that we do.” Beelzebub smiled humourlessly. “I’ll be watching, Crowley. Remember that. And _do your job_.”

Crowley nodded and left the room.

**LONDON, ENGLAND, 1988**

Aziraphale was humming to himself as he stacked the books; Crowley could hear it even over the inane chatter of passers-by and the steady hum of the traffic. He looked the same as ever, just as he had all those years ago in the front of Crowley’s car when he’d handed him the Holy Water. _You go too fast for me, Crowley_. And so Crowley had slowed down; had in fact stopped altogether. He hadn’t spoken to Aziraphale since that night and he had no intention of speaking to him now. The angel looked happy, in his shop, amongst his books. _Without me_, Crowley’s mind supplied unhelpfully. He knew that Beelzebub would skin him alive (or worse) if they found out Crowley hadn’t been sticking to the plan. It was safer for everyone if he just left, didn’t see Aziraphale again. There were seven billion people on the planet; it wouldn’t be too hard to blend into the background.

And it would keep Aziraphale safe. Safe from Falling, anyway, and Crowley had no doubt that Aziraphale could defend himself against anything else hell tried to throw at him. And as for Crowley himself, he knew hell would catch up with him eventually but he could be wonderfully annoying and waste a fantastic amount of their resources until they did so, so that basically counted as a win.

As if sensing Crowley’s gaze, Aziraphale looked up suddenly and their eyes met. Before Aziraphale had time to react, Crowley was gone; transporting himself to the relative safety of a flat he’d procured in a country far from Aziraphale and everything he represented.

****

The trouble was that Crowley had never tried to outrun hell before. He knew how avoid demons in theory, but he’d never actually had to put it into practice. For a long time he heard nothing from Aziraphale or from his superiors and he assumed he must be doing something right.

Until one day he came home to a demon in his kitchen.

But it wasn’t the attack he’d been expecting, wasn’t the punishment for betrayal or desertion or anything else he thought they’d throw at him.

It was a commendation for some world event he wasn’t aware of, and a summons back to England. There was a new assignment.

It had begun.

**TADFIELD, ENGLAND, 2007**

“Call Aziraphale.”

“_Calling Aziraphale_.” The phone cheerfully announced, before an annoying beeping filled the car. “_Sorry. All lines to London are currently busy.”_

Crowley let out an inarticulate groan. “Good one, Crowley.” He muttered. “Another job done perfectly.” How long would it take him to drive to London? Would Aziraphale even see him if he showed up unannounced? It had been a long time, and they hadn’t exactly parted on good terms the last time they’d spoken. Still, it was all he could do if- wait. What was that? Crowley screeched the Bentley to a halt and reversed until he was alongside the thing he’d seen. It _was_. It was a phone box. _Probably the last one in the country_ Crowley thought with a snort, getting out of the Bentley and hurrying over, fumbling in his pocket for change. Crowley fully expected the phone to still work and so he heard the reassuring hum of the dial tone when he picked it up. He quickly typed in the number for the bookshop.

“Come on, come on…”

“_I’m afraid we’re quite definitely closed-_“

Crowley closed his eyes and gripped the receiver slightly tighter. “Aziraphale. It’s me. We need to talk.”

There was a moment of terrifying silence on the other end of the line, and Crowley wondered if he was about to get hung up on.

“Yes. Yes I rather think we do.” Aziraphale’s voice was flat, distrustful, almost a stranger’s voice. “I assume this is about-”

“Armageddon.” Crowley interrupted. “Yes.” Whether or not that was what Aziraphale was going to say, Crowley had no idea and he really didn’t want to. He hung up the phone before Aziraphale could say anything else and headed back to the car. As he climbed into the driver’s seat it occurred to him that he hadn’t said where or when this talk would happen. “Bollocks.” He muttered to himself. There was no way he was going to call the angel again. He picked up his phone and sent a text telling Aziraphale to meet him in St James’ Park at 11 the next morning. Aziraphale wouldn’t receive it yet of course thanks to Crowley’s messing with the phone network but he imagined by morning it would be up and running and the message would have been delivered.

****

Sure enough, Aziraphale was waiting for him. Crowley’s heart leapt when he saw him, but when Aziraphale looked up at him there was no warmth in his eyes.

“Aziraphale.” _I’ve missed you_. “Hi.”

“Crowley.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. Or, well…I was fine. Armageddon?”

And so Crowley talked. He explained what he’d done, and what he’d been told, and what it would all mean. Aziraphale remained aloof and distant and Crowley wasn’t sure this wasn’t worse than not seeing the angel at all. Eventually he stood and walked off; hoping against hope that Aziraphale would follow him, give him some hope. He did.

“…we’ve only got 11 years and then it’s all over. We have to work together.”

“No.” Aziraphale sounded distracted. Crowley pushed on.

“It’s the end of the world we’re talking about, it’s not some little temptation I’ve asked you to cover for me while you’re up in Edinburgh for the festival, you can’t say no.”

“_No_.” Aziraphale said emphatically.

“We can do something. I have an idea!”

“No! I am not interested!” Aziraphale glared at him and started to walk away. Crowley watched him go, desperation rising. If Aziraphale walked away now, everything was over. He used to be so certain that Armageddon didn’t matter, that he could rebuild the earth in his own way so he could still have everything he wanted. But he’d paid more attention these past few hundred years and he knew that wouldn’t happen. Demons just didn’t _enjoy_ the things Crowley enjoyed. The earth would be turned into a burning pit with the last few humans hunted down for sport and then tortured for all eternity whilst everyone but Crowley enjoyed the screams. Aziraphale might have been sure that heaven would win, but Crowley was equally sure that hell would win.

Perhaps it wouldn’t make a difference.

“Well, let’s have lunch, hmm?” Crowley called desperately. Aziraphale paused, turned back towards him, his expression inscrutable. “I still owe you one, from…”

Aziraphale looked away and swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Paris. 1793.”

_Oh_. Crowley could feel his face growing hot. They’d never discussed what had happened between them, he wasn’t even sure if Aziraphale remembered. The look the angel was giving him now gave him no clues about what the angel was thinking. _Don’t say anything. Keep it light_.

“Yes. The reign of terror.” Crowley was almost impressed how smooth he kept his voice whilst his insides were shaking. “Was that one of ours or one of yours?”

“Can’t recall.” Aziraphale said with a frown, and Crowley wondered if they were talking about the same thing. Then Aziraphale’s expression brightened. “We had Crepes!”

Relief swept through him. _Oh, there you are_. “So we did.” He smiled. “So…The Ritz?”

“Sound wonderful, my d…yes.”

Crowley smiled to himself as he started the Bentley, mildly surprised as a traffic warden’s notepad spontaneously combusted. _Did I do that? Whoops_. He glanced at Aziraphale, who looked slightly sheepish for some reason.

Aziraphale could forgive him for leaving. As long as Crowley gave hell no reason to suspect anything untoward, they would be ok.

For the next 11 years, anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

“I can’t remember the last time I was here.” Crowley said, looking around the Ritz appreciatively. The lights were dimmed just the right amount to create a warm atmosphere, and the dining room was abuzz with gentle chatter. A young pianist sat at a white grand piano, tinkling out a vaguely familiar tune that Crowley couldn’t quite place, but liked all the same. Aziraphale glanced at the piano.

“I don’t think I ever have been.” He said lightly. Crowley stared at him.

“Really? You’ve never been here? _You_? I find that hard to believe.”

Aziraphale went a bit pink and raised his eyebrows, placing his napkin carefully on his lap. “I’ve never really had anyone to go with.”

…_we could, I don’t know, go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz_…

“Oh. Um.” Crowley didn’t know how to respond to that. He caught the eye of a waiter and ordered a bottle of wine before turning back to Aziraphale. “So does it live up to your expectations?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t ordered anything yet. What are you having?”

“I’m not really hungry.” Crowley admitted. “But you go ahead, order whatever you want. Like I said, I owe you one.” _I owe you for more than you know_.

“I wouldn’t like to take advantage…”

Crowley grinned. He appreciated the show of protest, even though they both knew Aziraphale was itching to try at least half the menu. “If it makes you feel better, you can pay next time.” Crowley joked. Aziraphale’s expression suddenly darkened and Crowley had the sense that he’d said something wrong.

“Crowley, don’t.” Aziraphale said quietly.

“What?”

Aziraphale licked his lips nervously. “I’m not crossing that line again, don’t ask me to.”

Crowley raised a questioning eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“We’re not friends, Crowley.”

Crowley’s heart sank. “I thought we could-“

“Well you thought wrong.” Aziraphale replied stiffly. He seemed fascinated by the table cloth all of a sudden, fiddling with a corner of it. Crowley licked his suddenly dry lips.

“Oh. I see. So when you agreed to lunch it was just…just lunch.”

“Yes. I won’t help you.” Aziraphale abandoned the table cloth and began fiddling with his empty wine glass. As if on cue, the waiter returned and placed the bottle on the table. Training dictated he should pour the wine, but he was hit by a sudden need go back to the kitchen as quickly as possible and leave the table occupants alone.

“Perhaps I should go.” Crowley said quietly.

“Perhaps that would be best.”

Crowley stood up to leave, then looked back at Aziraphale. Perhaps he _should_ walk away now. It felt strange, being in the angel’s company now. Except for those few minutes in Crowley’s car back in the 1970s, this was the first real time they’d spent together since Crowley realised he was never going to make Aziraphale Fall. It felt…oddly freeing. Crowley had never spent time with him without an ulterior motive before, and he’d let himself get carried away. But Aziraphale was right. They should keep this professional, it was safer for both of them. He should go.

“I’m sorry.” He said suddenly, surprising himself. Aziraphale froze, then slowly looked up face him.

“What was that?”

Crowley groaned. “Don’t make me say it again.” He hesitated for a few seconds, then flopped down into his chair again, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

Aziraphale swallowed, his expression doing something complicated. He looked away. “Why would you say it in the first place?”

Crowley shrugged, wishing he’d held his tongue. He looked down at his glass. “I don’t know. Because it’s true? Sort of.”

“You left.”

“I did.” Crowley agreed, looking up at the angel. Aziraphale was pointedly not looking at him. “I also came back.”

“So let me get this straight.” Aziraphale said, “You go swanning off to the other side of the world leaving me to-“

“You knew where I was?” Crowley interrupted, frowning. Aziraphale looked up at him, then, derailed.

“Well, of course I did.” He said, confused. “I didn’t think you were exactly hiding.”

“You stayed away. Why?

“Why did you leave?” Aziraphale fired back instead of answering. Crowley winced.

“…I had to.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Well of course you did. You got what you wanted, after all.”

Crowley blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on, Crowley. I’ve told you before I’m not an idiot.”

Crowley threw up his hands, frustrated. “Look, I’m sorry I left, angel, alright? I don’t know what else you want from me.”

“I don’t want anything from you, Crowley, that’s the point!” Aziraphale sniffed.

“What _point_? What the heaven are you going on about?”

Aziraphale sighed impatiently. “Look, It’s good that you’re back and want us to work together to prevent the apocalypse, but let’s not pretend, my dear, please. Even if I did help you, and we succeeded, you’d disappear again until the next time you want something from me. Apparently that’s how it works.”

Crowley stared at him, confused, mind racing. _What the bloody heaven…?_ And then it hit him and his mouth fell open in surprise. “You think I left because you gave me holy water?” Crowley said in disbelief. “Aziraphale, I left because of _work_. Because I owed hell a debt I didn’t want to pay and I thought they’d come after me to collect!”

“And this just happened to occur after I gave you the water?”

“Yes!”

“So it’s just a great big coincidence then, I give you what you want and you stop speaking to me?” Aziraphale said in disbelief.

“You said I went too fast for you, what was I supposed to do?” Crowley said sharply. Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut into a thin line and he looked away. Crowley put his head in his hands. He _really_ hadn’t meant to say that. This felt dangerously close to admitting something Crowley really wasn’t ready to say out loud.

“You said a debt?” Aziraphale asked quietly. Crowley looked up at him, grateful that Aziraphale was letting it drop.

“Yeah.” He said, drawing the word out. “But as it turns out, Armageddon is more important than ensuring I pay up.”

“So you’re not in any trouble?”

Crowley swallowed, his eyes roaming over Aziraphale’s face, safe in the knowledge that the angel couldn’t see him behind his glasses. Beelzebub would still expect him to make Aziraphale Fall. All Armageddon was doing was buying him time. “No.” he lied. Aziraphale was staring at him. The atmosphere felt suddenly tense and still. Aziraphale licked his lips.

“Crowley-“

Crowley shook his head, shaking himself out of his trance. “Well, apart from the whole Armageddon thing. We’re all in trouble, I suppose, really.”

“Right. Yes.” Aziraphale looked like he was about to say something else, before he seemingly thought better of it and instead poured himself a glass of wine and drank it far too quickly.

“Are you…going to order?” Crowley asked cautiously. Aziraphale hesitated, then gave a decisive nod.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose I will. Wine?” he offered the bottle to Crowley who nodded and watched Aziraphale fill his glass, a strange lump in his throat and a tightness in his chest.

**LONDON, ENGLAND, 2012**

Crowley stood at the bus stop, throwing an irritated glance at his watch. The bus was now almost ten minutes late. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, London traffic being what it was, but he really wanted to talk to Aziraphale. He’d felt something was wrong for a while now, and this past weekend had only amplified the feeling. He’d accompanied the Dowling’s to a cousin’s home in Cornwall, and watching Warlock playing and getting picked on by some older boys as they played on the beach was…unsettling. The boy should have been displaying _something_ of his powers by now, surely? He should be bending reality to his will at least in _small_ ways – anyone picking on him should have found themselves buried up to the neck in sand or had their swimming trunks disappear or whatever other ‘punishments’ a five year old might think of. But no, Warlock had reacted just like any other human five year old might do. And that was worrying.

Finally, the bus pulled in and Crowley boarded, climbing up to the top deck and dropping into the seat behind Aziraphale.

“The boy’s too normal.” He hissed. Aziraphale folded his newspaper.

“Excellent. It’s working.” He smiled and removed his glasses. “The heavenly influences are balancing out the hellish. A no-score draw.”

“I hope you’re right. Only six years left to go.” Crowley glanced out of the window, watching the pedestrians walking by. It wasn’t fair on anyone, really, this whole business. None of the humans had any idea what was going on, how little time they potentially had left. Their lives were painfully short as it was.

“Crowley?”

“Yeah?” he replied, distracted.

“I mean…if he comes into his full power, how do we stop him then?”

Crowley’s eyes flew back to Aziraphale. He sounded scared, more scared than Crowley had heard him in a long time. Crowley wanted to move, wanted to sit beside him and touch his arm and reassure him that everything was alright. Even if it wasn’t. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.” He leant back in his seat, looking away from Aziraphale again. In truth, he was scared as well. They’d spent the past five years moulding the boy and so far there was absolutely nothing to show for it. Perhaps Aziraphale was right and it was just the heavenly influences cancelling out Crowley’s, but he would have expected _something_, some sign that they were doing the right thing. “We need to decide what to do now.” Crowley said quietly, sitting forwards again. “The boy’s five now, he won’t need a nanny much longer.”

“Yes, I’ve been wondering about that. Perhaps a tutor? I heard Mrs Dowling talking about home-schooling the boy, I could…persuade her…that that would be the right course?”

“I’ll do that.” Crowley said quickly, and saw Aziraphale almost turn around in surprise. Crowley cleared his throat, aware that he’d been too abrupt. But he couldn’t help it. The sort of persuasion Aziraphale was talking about fell dangerously close to _temptation_, and Crowley wanted to keep him as far away from that as possible. “It’s a good idea, It could work.” Crowley bit his lip. “Would you keep being the gardener?”

Aziraphale tutted. “No, I’ve been thinking about that as well. Warlock’s been coming to see me less and less recently, I think he’s getting rather too old to enjoy spending time with Brother Francis. I think its best if we both work as tutors, you know, spending equal amounts of time with the boy?”

“We’d probably need to spend more time together as well.” Crowley looked out the window again very deliberately. “Coordinate lessons and…things.”

“We would.” Aziraphale said, clearly aiming for casual and missing by about a mile. “We’d have to be even more careful. More time together means more chances for hell to find out I know about the boy.”

Crowley looked back at him. _Oh, Aziraphale_. He’d told the angel the truth, that in all his reports to hell he had told them that heaven had no clue about any of it. Of course, that wasn’t the whole story. It never was. After Crowley had left the bookshop five years previously, having come up with the plan of raising Warlock together, he’d gone back to his flat and he’d thought. He’d thought about Aziraphale, and the plan Crowley had proposed all those millennia ago. He’d thought about his own Fall, and about Beelzebub’s words last time they had spoken - _“I’ll be watching, Crowley. Remember that.”_. And then he had made a decision. Pulled a sheet of paper out of thin air and composed a memo to Beelzebub detailing how he was tempting Aziraphale into defying heaven by having him assist in raising the antichrist; supposedly to be a good influence but, he’d insisted, Crowley’s own influence and that of the inherently evil Warlock would instead corrupt Aziraphale and when Armageddon came the angel would be fighting by hell’s side. At the time, it had seemed like the logical thing to do in order to keep Beelzebub off their backs. Now, he wondered if it hadn’t been a mistake. Perhaps he should have just kept quiet, skulked around in the shadows and hoped that hell wouldn’t come sniffing around (like Aziraphale thought they were doing anyway).

“We can spend more time together at the estate, angel. Two tutors spending time together won’t be half as scandalous as the nanny and the gardener.”

“Scandalous?”

“I’m sure half the staff believe we’re…romantically involved.”

“…oh.” Aziraphale sat very still for a minute. “How human of them.” He opened his newspaper again and began to read, but Crowley noticed with curiosity that the tips of Aziraphale’s ears had gone red.

“How human indeed.” He murmured.

**SIX YEARS LATER**

“You look dashing.”

Crowley looked up in surprise, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes in the mirror.

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat and went back to fixing his tie. “I am the head waiter. I have to set a standard. I’m not sure white is my colour though.” He eyed his reflection critically. Then he cocked his head to one side and turned to face Aziraphale. “Dashing? Really?”

Aziraphale gave a coy smile. “Yes, Crowley, dashing.”

“I wasn’t going for dashing. I was going for suave and sophisticated.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale grinned, elbowing Crowley out of the way so he could see his own reflection.

“You know you look rather dashing yourself.” Crowley said teasingly, eyeing the angel up and down. Aziraphale pulled out a pen and began to draw a moustache on his face. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Wait, never mind, no you don’t. You look ridiculous.”

Aziraphale glared at Crowley in the reflection, only half of his moustache drawn on. “It’s for my character. A magician should have a moustache.” He explained.

“You could grow one.”

“It’s supposed to look whimsical.”

Crowley snorted. “Not the word I’d use.”

Aziraphale finished drawing on his facial hair and turned to Crowley. “Yes, well, we won’t have that sort of language at a child’s birthday party thank you, even if they are the antichrist.” He looked Crowley up and down and tutted. “You know, I think if you just…” he stepped forwards and took hold of Crowley’s jacket. Crowley’s heart gave a jolt.

“What are you doing?” he asked, jerking back ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale seemed not to notice.

“I’m just…there. Perfect.” He did up one of the buttons on Crowley’s jacket and stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Crowley barely glanced down.

“I don’t think the buttons are supposed to be done up.” He said.

Aziraphale looked up, meeting his gaze. “Oh?”

Crowley cleared his throat and looked away. “It’s fine, it’s…right. Well. I’d better go and assemble the waiters, haven’t you got a stage to set up?”

“Yes, you’re right my dear.” Aziraphale beamed at him, then the expression wavered and faded. “One hour to go, then.”

“One hour to go.” Crowley agreed.

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “Well then. Time to put on a show.” He walked out of the room, and Crowley suddenly felt very bereft.

“Aziraphale.”

“Hmm?” the angel stuck his head back around the doorway, expectantly.

“I just wanted to say…if we fail. If Warlock names the dog and comes into his powers, I…” _I won’t fight you. I won’t let them hurt you. I won’t give up on you. _“I just-”

“Don’t think like that.” Aziraphale interrupted gently. “We’ve done enough. I’m sure of it.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Well I am.” Aziraphale swallowed. “We’ll be ok.”

He left before Crowley could say another word. Crowley ran a hand over his face, looking around the room. It was far drearier than the one he’d gotten used to as Nanny Ashtoreth, or even as Mr Harrison during their time as tutors. He supposed the regular staff were not entitled to such luxuries as flowers or silks or whatever gaudy ornaments had taken Mrs Dowling’s fancy at some time or another. Much as he was loathe to admit it, he was going to miss the Dowling’s estate. He’d never stuck around in one place for so long (ok, he’d maintained his flat in London for over 150 years but that didn’t count – he’d barely been there, he didn’t exactly think of it as home.) He’d even miss _Warlock_, Satan help him – the boy might be an insolent, disrespectful, entitled little sod but when Crowley looked at him, every now and again, he saw the little boy who had giggled at ducks, and collected stones for Nanny Ashtoreth that he thought she might like whenever he went on walks, or gazed at her with such utter devotion when she sang him his night-time lullaby. Crowley hoped that boy would always be in Warlock, that he wouldn’t be completely hardened and corrupted by his father’s influence.

His earthly father, or, if they failed…well. Best not to think about that.

He could hear the sounds of the band starting up, which meant the guests would be arriving any minute. Most of the food and drinks were already set up, but in Crowley’s experience there was always a bit of last minute preparation which had to be done. Taking a last look around, he left the room and headed towards the kitchen.

****

It was like watching a car crash. Crowley wanted to stop watching, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene before him. Aziraphale - or, ‘The Marvellous Mr Fell’ as he was today – was absolutely dying on stage. True, he wasn’t as bad as Crowley remembered him being back when he’d first gotten into the whole ‘magic’ thing, but the kids all looked bored out of their minds and most of the adults seemed to share in Crowley’s second hand embarrassment as the watched the hapless magician pull bright scarves out of his suspiciously bulky sleeve. Crowley itched to help him, provide a miracle or two, some real magic to liven things up but 1)Aziraphale would be furious and 2)he really didn’t have time to be worrying about this. It was 14:55 and the dog would be here in five minutes. Crowley tore his eyes away from Aziraphale and scanned the garden, the crowds, trying to catch sight of anything hellish. 14:57. Still nothing. Aziraphale was babbling on about a missing rabbit and one of the children looked like they might fall asleep. 14:59. Aziraphale produced the rabbit from inside his hat (or, more accurately, inside the cage secreted under the table) and several of the children were whispering to each other. Thirty seconds to go. The children were frustrated, telling Aziraphale how rubbish he was. Crowley couldn’t say he blamed them. Twenty seconds. Ten - the knots in his stomach were so tight with anxiety Crowley was surprised something inside him didn’t break - Five seconds. He looked around as he silently counted down, eyes frantically scanning his surroundings. Four. Three. Two. One. And…nothing. Crowley blinked, frowning down as his watch as the seconds continued to tick cheerfully on. He looked up again, caught Aziraphale’s eye and shrugged helplessly. Where was it?

“…but Harry the rabbit is tired of hopping around. Harry wishes he could _fly_! If I put Harry back in my hat of mysteries-” Aziraphale was cut off as the first blob of birthday cake smacked him on the side of the head. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure who had thrown it. With a cheer of delight, all the children got up at once, running to the food table Crowley had so carefully and painstakingly laid out and flinging handfuls of food at everyone even vaguely within throwing range. Crowley ducked out of the marquee before anyone decided to target him, gesturing for Aziraphale to follow him.

“It’s late.” Aziraphale said, pulling a dove from his jacket (no doubt the subject of his next ‘trick’)

“Comes from putting it up your sleeve.” Crowley muttered distractedly, fiddling the with radio knobs. He had to get hold of someone in hell, someone who could explain what was going on. The dog couldn’t late, something must have happened.

“No. The hellhound. It’s late.” Aziraphale climbed into the car, getting buttercream on the upholstery. Crowley struggled to care. He stared at the radio until somebody answered. Dagon. Crowley didn’t like Dagon. He’d never spent much time with them if he could help it, but they’d always struck him as somewhat…slimy.

“Just checking in about the Hell Hound.”

“He should be with you by now. Why? Has something gone wrong, Crowley?”

Crowley didn’t miss the note of delight in Dagon’s voice, the hope that Crowley had messed up somehow. Evidently the feeling of dislike was mutual. “Wrong? No, no. Nothing’s wrong. What could be wrong? Oh! No, I see him now, yes, what a lovely big…helly Hell Hound. Yes, ok, great talking to you.” He quickly switched the radio off and sat there, staring straight ahead.

“No dog.” Aziraphale said.

“No dog.”

The dog had been released on schedule. The dog wasn’t there. There was only one possible explanation. Impossible thought it seemed, it must mean…

“Wrong boy.”

“Wrong boy.” Crowley echoed, turning to look at Aziraphale. The memo he’d written all those years ago flashed through his mind. _When Armageddon begins, the angel will fight by our side. I guarantee it. When Armageddon begins, Aziraphale will Fall_. Everything was unravelling at the seams. Crowley’s only hope was that the real antichrist, wherever he was, wouldn’t name the dog.

Perhaps he was more of a cat person. That would be convenient.

Before Aziraphale could say anything else, Crowley slammed his door shut and sped off. Aziraphale hurried to fasten his seatbelt, throwing Crowley a look that was somehow both irritated and terrified at the same time. They didn’t say anything else until they were back at the bookshop, until Aziraphale had poured them both a large drink. _I shouldn’t be mixed up in this. This isn’t fair._

“Why did the powers of hell have to drag me into this anyway?”

“Well, don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure it’s because of all those memos you kept sending them, saying how amazingly well you were doing.”

And he was right. Of course he was right. But it wasn’t the memos he thought it was, the claiming of the Spanish inquisition or World War Two. Ok, maybe that was part of it but it wasn’t the whole story. No, this was Beelzebub’s doing. This was because Crowley was going to make an angel Fall. This was because…oh shit. Crowley lifted his head, sniffing, hoping he was mistaken. But no. He’d caught a scent that was unmistakeable. The Hell Hound had found its master, and it had been named. Armageddon was upon them. Crowley’s last shred of hope evaporated.

They were doomed.


	9. Chapter 9

**THE NUMBER 6 BUS TO OXFORD, ENGLAND, 2 HOURS AFTER ARMAGEDDON**

Crowley’s eyes kept flicking down to their entwined hands. Aziraphale had grabbed his as he sat down on the Oxford bus, resolutely not looking at Crowley, and the demon was honestly lost. Crowley was tired, more tired than he’d ever been in his life, the sort of tiredness that spreads, that gets deep into the very atoms of a person.

It was over.

They’d fought the battle and in spite of everything they had _won_. And now it was just him and Aziraphale, on a bus, holding hands, on their own side. And what did that mean? They still had the prophecy to work out, some way to save themselves from the retribution of their respective bureaucracies no doubt, but right now Crowley couldn’t think about that. The past few hours had been almost more than he could bear. It was a genuine wonder to him that he was still standing…well, technically sitting at the moment…when all he wanted to do was curl up somewhere warm and sleep for at least a century. His emotions had been all over the place. He had to admit that he’d panicked, towards the end. Realised that, in spite of everything he loved on earth, none of it mattered compared to Aziraphale. Even if, like he’d believed all those years ago, he could rebuild a new earth it would be completely irrelevant because Aziraphale would not be there, not as he was now. And so Crowley had cracked. He’d cracked and he’d begged Aziraphale to run away with him. Twice. And Aziraphale had rejected him both times. And Crowley had been so _angry_, so angry and utterly hurt that Aziraphale couldn’t see what was going on. He’d almost hated the angel in that moment as he sped away, the threat of leaving by himself ringing in his ears.

And then he’d gone back, because he never could leave Aziraphale. Not really. And everything had collapsed into a mess of devastation and regret (_the shop was full of flames, flames everywhere, licking up the walls, devouring books. Crowley could still read some of the titles, he could recognise where Aziraphale’s favourites were burning. “Aziraphale!” where was he, Crowley couldn’t feel him, couldn’t feel anything except for the blistering heat. “Aziraphale where the heaven are you, you idiot?!” and the air tasted of ash and dust and a trace of magic he couldn’t identify but was most definitely not Aziraphale’s. He couldn’t smell Aziraphale. Couldn’t taste the angel in the air. He was gone. He was dead. Crowley was as sure of that as he was of anything. If it was a mere discorporation there would be a body, if was a kidnapping there would be a trace, some sign that they’d taken him, but there was nothing. There was only fire. Aziraphale was gone, and Crowley’s heart was gone with him. He collapsed to the floor, struggling to breathe. There was no point. No point to any of it. What did it matter if the world ended? It basically already had_) Crowley had wholeheartedly believed Aziraphale was gone. A part of him had still believed it, even after the bar, even after the drive across the M25. Had believed it all the way up to the point when the antichrist had recognised that Madame Tracey’s body contained a second life force, until Aziraphale had suddenly _shifted_ into being. And then Crowley had really, truly known he was back and it took a lot of strength not to just fling himself at the angel, collapse into his arms and not let go. And then Gabriel and Beelzebub had appeared. And then Satan. And then…nothing. It was done. But Crowley couldn’t shake the feeling that it was far from over, that everything was on the brink of coming crashing down around him. The look on Beelzebub’s face…Gabriel had pointed out that it was their fault Armageddon wasn’t happening and when they’d looked between Crowley and Aziraphale, there was a look in their eyes…they’d been furious. And Crowley realised then and there that they knew. They’d realised what he’d done, where his loyalties truly lay, and there was no way they were going to let that lie.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. The angel was staring out the window, a small frown creasing his brow, the only outward sign that he was affected by any of this at all. Crowley wondered what would happen if he laid his head on his shoulder, pressed his face against Aziraphale’s neck. _Fuck it. Let’s find out_. But before he could move, Aziraphale turned towards him and their eyes met.

“You look tired, my dear.” Aziraphale murmured.

“I’m fine.” Crowley lied, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand. The angel raised a disbelieving eyebrow but said nothing. They went back to sitting in silence, but Crowley couldn’t help noticing the grip on his hand had tightened ever so slightly, and the tiredness seemed to be _miraculously_ easing somewhat.

All too soon the bus pulled up outside Crowley’s building and they disembarked, waving thanks to the confused looking driver. Aziraphale had released his hand as soon as the bus had stopped, and Crowley found himself missing it. He resisted the urge to take it back. They climbed the stairs to his front door in silence, and Crowley let them in to the flat. Aziraphale cast a look around.

“It’s…charming.”

“It’s bleak.” Crowley retorted. Aziraphale did a funny half shrug.

“It’s very…_you_.”

Crowley snorted, and the tense atmosphere seemed to crack and Aziraphale smiled. “Should I be offended?”

“Probably.” Aziraphale grinned. “I’m going to have a proper nose around if you don’t mind.”

“Rude. I’ll find us something to drink.” Crowley sauntered off towards the kitchen, hoping he still had something decent in his wine rack – he never could keep track of what he drank and what he gave to Aziraphale for them to drink together. He selected a bottle and headed towards the sound of Aziraphale’s voice, snagging two glasses as he went. He found Aziraphale in the nursery cooing over his plants.

“Oh, Crowley, they’re gorgeous!” he exclaimed happily, accepting a glass of wine. “My dear, I didn’t know you gardened – thank you – you’re simply marvellous at it!”

“Oh. Well. They know what’s good for them.” Crowley said meaningfully, glaring around at the plants. He should probably get Aziraphale away from them before they got any ideas. _Gorgeous – honestly_! “Come on, angel, this way.” He led Aziraphale through another door and into his living room. This was not quite as sparse and grey as the rest of the flat and Crowley caught the look of delight on Aziraphale’s face as he took in the splashes of reds in the décor and the soft throws on the sofa.

“Oh this is _nice_.” He sighed. Crowley grimaced.

“It’s not _nice_, it’s…just go and sit down, would you? We need to talk about this prophecy.” The smile fell abruptly from Aziraphale’s face and he sat down heavily on the end of the sofa.

“Yes. Well. I have no idea what it means. You?”

“Not a clue.” Crowley took a drink. Aziraphale glanced at him.

“It’s not too late, you know. We could still go.”

Crowley frowned. “Go where?”

“Alpha Centuri. They’d never find us.”

Crowley swallowed, heart racing. Aziraphale looked calm, but there was a hint of tension in his face. Crowley wasn’t sure why. “You’d go with me?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale shot him a guilty look. “I’m so sorry, Crowley, what I said…”

“Don’t worry about it, angel.” Crowley smiled. “But no. It is too late to run, we both know that.” He sighed. “They’re coming for us.” Truth be told, he was quite surprised they weren’t already knocking on the door. He wasn’t sure anymore that he’d mind if they did – if he was going to go, he wanted to go beside Aziraphale. The two of them against everything. He reached out cautiously and took Aziraphale’s hand in his. Aziraphale smiled shyly and squeezed it.

“We can figure this out, Crowley.” He said softly. “We’ll be ok.”

“Will we?”

“You won’t lose me again.”

Crowley’s looked away. He hadn’t been sure if Aziraphale had understood that drunken confession, but apparently he’d known exactly what Crowley meant. The room suddenly felt too hot, and Aziraphale felt too close. Crowley withdrew his hand.

“Right. Of course.” He stood and headed back to the kitchen to grab another bottle of wine. He was perfectly capable of miracling one up, but suddenly he needed distance from Aziraphale. His ramblings in the bar had been raw and heartbroken and – now that Aziraphale was back – oddly embarrassing. He needed a moment of space.

Aziraphale clearly didn’t pick up on this, because he followed him.

“Crowley? Are you alright?”

How could he explain? How could he _possibly_ put into words how he was feeling right now? Aziraphale was his one constant, even back when he’d been genuinely trying to make him Fall, and then he had _gone_. And Crowley’s whole world had ended. And now he was back and he was _here_ and he was telling Crowley that he knew he was his best friend – but he wasn’t, he was so much more than that, but he’d treated him so horribly in the beginning and Aziraphale didn’t even know, and it broke Crowley’s heart a little bit just to look at him and _how could he explain_?

“I’m fine, angel. Just getting another bottle.” Crowley held one up as evidence. Aziraphale still looked uncertain.

“You’re thinking about something. Tell me.”

“How do you know?” Crowley forced a smile.

“My dear, I know you better than anyone and I…I…oh.” Aziraphale’s face cleared and he looked euphoric.

“Oh?” Crowley’s heart leapt.

“I know you better than anyone. And you know _me_ better than anyone!”

“What’s your point?”

“We need to swap places! Impersonate the other. I go to hell as you; you go to heaven as me! They’d never be able to tell, it’d be easy.” Aziraphale beamed, eyes sparkling with something like mischief. “Their punishments won’t touch us.”

Crowley’s heart sank and he went suddenly cold. “No.”

“It’s the prophecy, my dear. It’s the best chance we’ve got.”

“You can’t. Not to hell. Not looking like me, they might…” he broke of, pacing away and leaning against the kitchen work surface. If Aziraphale went to hell looking like him, there was a good chance he’d find out everything. Beelzebub was sure to bring it up in the list of charges, and if not that they’d definitely reference it somehow, if not outright state it. Now that they knew Crowley had betrayed them, there was no telling how they’d react. If Aziraphale went to hell in his place it was all over. He’d know everything. And that was probably the best case scenario.

“Crowley, what’s wrong? Do you not think I can do it?”

“It’s not about that. You’re perfectly capable. More than capable. It’s…” he span to look at his friend. Aziraphale was watching him warily. “If you go down there it’s all over.”

“What is?”

“This.”

Aziraphale frowned. “You’ve lost me, my dear, I’m afraid. This? This what?”

Crowley stared at him. His angel. His stupid, idiotic, perfect angel. _I will lose you. You will find out the truth and you will leave and I will never, ever forgive myself._ “There are things you don’t know about me. Things you’ll find out-”

“Crowley, relax. I know enough to know there’s nothing I could find out about you that would change anything.” Aziraphale smiled reassuringly. Crowley stared at him, anguished.

“I wish that were true.” He muttered. He turned and began his rapid pacing again. “I wish…” Aziraphale caught hold of his arm, spinning him to face him. Crowley looked at him; his blue eyes full of concern, the little crease in his forehead that showed his confusion, the eyebrows slightly raised in a question. He was going to lose him. It was all too much. With a sound like a wounded animal, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s face in a tight grip, and kissed him.


	10. Chapter 10

For a second, the world stood frozen. Then another second. And then Crowley felt Aziraphale’s mouth open hesitantly under his, felt the angel’s hands snake up to grip his shoulders and everything restarted with a jolt. He pushed Aziraphale back, pinning him against the wall, kissing him as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. This was everything. His whole existence boiled down to this; he and Aziraphale in his little kitchen, kissing at the end of the world.

Aziraphale let out a low keening sound from deep in his throat and the sound of it travelled straight to Crowley’s groin. He broke away and began to kiss and nip along Aziraphale’s jawline. The angel gasped, his fingers tightening their grip, one hand moving to grasp Crowley’s hair before pulling him back into another searing kiss. Working on autopilot, Crowley tugged mindlessly at Aziraphale’s waistcoat, slipping it from the angels’ shoulders before tossing it behind him and running his hands up Aziraphale’s sides, his shoulders, before gripping his face once more. There was a fire burning in his abdomen, hotter than he’d ever felt it. He _wanted_, oh Satan how he wanted. Aziraphale gave a needy moan, shifting slightly, and his right thigh slipped perfectly between Crowley’s legs, pressing against him and sending a thrill of electricity through his whole body. _Oh yes. Please yes. Please…no. NO._ With a huge effort, more than he knew he was capable of, Crowley pulled back, panting. Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, his pupils blown. He looked positively debauched.

“Crowley, I…my dear, for so long…” Aziraphale breathed, resting his forehead against Crowley’s. “I-”

“Angel, don’t.” Crowley whispered. He staggered back, forcing himself to let go of Aziraphale. He felt slightly sick, shame burning inside him. This shouldn’t have happened. “Please don’t.”

“I...” Aziraphale frowned, uncertainly. “Should I not have said anything? Oh dear, was this not…? I mean, you kissed me, I thought-”

“No! No, don’t…” Crowley surged back towards him, stopping just short of kissing him and instead pressing their foreheads together again, screwing his eyes shut. “I can’t do this to you when you don’t know…I mean, you…”

“Crowley, what are you saying?” Aziraphale sounded frustrated and hurt.

“Please don’t go to hell.” Crowley hated begging. He _hated_ it. But he had to try. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t. You know there isn’t. Crowley I still don’t understand what you mean, what…?”

Crowley breathed deeply. The thought of them carrying out this plan of Aziraphale’s filled him with terror, and a large part of him wanted to put his foot down, declare that they were going to find another way, damn it, whether the angel liked it or not. But the rest of him, that small part of him that wasn’t entirely consumed by fear and want and shame, knew that this was the only course of action that made sense. Knew that there was no way to stop this from happening if they wanted to survive. “After.” He said softly, pulling back so he could look Aziraphale in the face. “If we have to do this…then after. We can talk. I’ll explain everything. But Aziraphale?” he hesitated. “Please remember this. Whatever you see, whatever you hear. Promise me you’ll remember this moment.”

“I promise.” Aziraphale sounded so confused, but Crowley couldn’t offer any explanation. He simply grabbed the angel in a tight hug and tried to hold himself together in the face of the overwhelming panic building inside him once again.

“After.” He whispered, feeling Aziraphale’s arms creep around him to return the embrace.

****

“I bet you didn’t see this one coming.” Gabriel stepped back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, then he paused. “I must say, I’m almost disappointed.”

“Oh?”

Gabriel leant forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but a part of me was kind of rooting for the other guy. But then, I suppose, if he’d succeeded I wouldn’t be able to make this example out of you now would I?”

“What are you talking about?” Crowley snapped.

Gabriel stepped back. “Our friend Mr Crowley, of course! He had big plans for you, Aziraphale. _Big_ plans.”

Crowley fought hard to maintain a blank expression. _Surely he doesn’t mean…he can’t mean **that**_. “I…don’t understand.” He said weakly.

Gabriel threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Aziraphale. Are you really that stupid? What am I saying, of course you are.” He was suddenly in Crowley’s space, so close their noses were almost touching. Crowley pulled his head back as far as he was able and Gabriel smirked at his discomfort. “Do you think he _cares_ about you, Aziraphale?” he said, his voice low and mocking. “Do you think he _loves_ you? He wants you to Fall, you idiot. He’s been trying to _make_ _you Fall_.”

There was a beat of silence. “You…knew.” Crowley stared at him in complete disbelief. “You _knew_?” he glanced wildly at Sandalphon and Uriel stood to one side, but the two angels seemingly weren’t paying attention. “You all knew?!”

“Of course not.” Gabriel scoffed, glancing at his companions. “I’m the only one that knew anything.”

“And you did _nothing_? You would have let an angel Fall?”

“Aziraphale, no! I’m wounded you would think so little of me. If you Fell it would have caused an outcry, I wouldn’t have let it happen.” He pulled a face of mock consideration. “But I did want to see if he could pull it off. Years ago I didn’t think it was possible, but you…” he wagged a finger, “You gave me reason to doubt that so I started paying more attention. Obviously I still hoped he wouldn’t be able to, but if he had then I’d have dealt with you my way before anything could actually, you know, happen.” He made a downwards pointing gesture.

_He knew. How much does he know? Did he...? Surely he didn’t actually want me to succeed, **want** Aziraphale to Fall? Aziraphale had faith in them. In Gabriel. They’re supposed to be the good guys, they should have stopped me. _“You bastard.” Crowley spat.

“Language.” Gabriel admonished.

“He’s better than all of you.” He almost hissed, tugging against his bonds.

Gabriel laughed. “He’s a _demon_.”

Crowley snapped his mouth shut. _Oh. Right. Yeah. Don’t talk about Aziraphale, **be** Aziraphale. Keep it together, Crowley. Think happy thoughts…Gabriel’s head on a pike, for example. _“You don’t know him.” He said stiffly.

Gabriel’s eyes lit up. “_Oh_. Oh, this is so sad. This is just tragic. It’s not just that you think he loves you…you love _him_ don’t you? I can see it in your face.” Crowley quickly tried his best to look impassive. “I always knew you were a bit off, but this? This is even more disgusting than all that gross matter you insisted on shoving into your face.” The archangel shuddered theatrically. Then he looked over Crowley’s shoulder and smiled widely.

“You don’t get this view down in the basement!” came a voice from behind him.

Crowley ignored the demon, his mind still reeling at this new discovery. Ok, Gabriel knew. But how? Since when? Clearly this wasn’t recent information, Gabriel was far too casual for that. He’d mentioned knowing for ‘years’ but that was far too ambiguous. Did Beelzebub know that he knew? Crowley doubted it. He glanced at the pillar of hellfire that rose up suddenly beside him and briefly wondered whether he could pull Gabriel into it before anyone else had a chance to react. He looked back at Gabriel when the archangel spoke.

“So. With one act of treason, you averted the war.”

“Well I think the greater good-“

“Don’t talk to me about the greater good, sunshine. I’m the archangel fucking Gabriel.” He levelled Crowley with a hard stare. “The greater good was we were finally going to settle things with the opposition once and for all. Show them that they can’t, in fact, still get to us.”

Crowley’s blood ran cold, remembering his meeting with Beelzebub at the beginning. (…_More than that, my lord_, _it would be a precedent. Show we can still get to them…_) Was it a coincidence that he’d used those words? Did this mean Gabriel had known since the beginning? Uriel tugged the ropes binding Crowley to the chair and he stood, rubbing his wrists. He straightened his jacket and looked directly into Gabriel’s eyes.

“I don’t suppose I can persuade you to reconsider?” Gabriel merely looked at him. “Y-we’re meant to be the good guys for heaven’s sake!”

“Well, for _heaven’s_ sake, we are meant to make examples out of traitors. So. Into the flame.”

“Right. Well. Lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion.” _Like in a dark alley when I’m armed with something heavy enough to smash your stupid perfect teeth in._

“Shut your stupid mouth and die already.” Gabriel smiled sarcastically and Crowley forced himself not to react. Fuck ‘meeting on a better occasion’, he wanted to destroy everyone in this room right now. But, no, he had to get through this for Aziraphale’s sake. The last thing they needed was heaven hunting him for a murderer. Crowley stepped into the flame and let the warm tickle soothe him, help wash the anger away. It felt like sinking into a hot bath after a long day. It even almost helped to relieve the anxiety about what Aziraphale might be experiencing at that very moment. The looks of terror on the angel’s faces helped too, they deserved it. They all deserved it. All too soon it was time to step out of the flames, and Crowley stepped forwards so he was almost nose to nose with Gabriel in a parody of their earlier interaction, expression carefully blank.

“He got to you after all.” Gabriel said quietly, his voice trembling slightly.

“Yes. He did. But not in the way you’re implying.” He cocked his head to one side and raised his voice so the others could hear. “Leave. Us. Alone.” He said forcefully. Then he smiled and Gabriel’s eyes widened further. “Or I rather think I might come back up here.”

“Alright, Aziraphale.” Gabriel swallowed nervously. “You’ve made your point. Just…go.”

Crowley cast a contemptuous look at the other angels and made his way back to earth, back to Aziraphale. He half expected to be attacked from behind as he went but nothing happened and before he knew it he was standing outside St James’ Park. He stopped. Maybe it was better not knowing. If he didn’t go in then he wouldn’t know if Aziraphale had come back, he wouldn’t know if the angel knew about his betrayal, and he could carry on just imagining that everything had gone perfectly to plan and that Aziraphale still believed Crowley to be his best friend.

Any alternative would destroy him, he was sure of it.

Taking a deep breath, Crowley forced himself to keep walking. He headed straight for the bench they’d agreed to meet at, not daring to take his eyes off his feet as he walked, not daring to look at the bench as he approached in case it was empty. When he reached it, he swallowed heavily and looked up.

Aziraphale sat there, wearing Crowley’s body, staring out at the ducks and looking more serious than Crowley had ever seen him. _He knows. Oh fuck he knows._

“I’m-” he began. Aziraphale looked at him, then, and his face broke out into a smile.

“_Crowley_.” He breathed, and Crowley thought he had never heard anyone sound so relieved and happy and _loving_, and it was simultaneously the best and the worst feeling he’d ever had.

Later when they were dining in the Ritz, he couldn’t take his eyes off Aziraphale. They angel had been regaling him with tales of the people he’d possessed before finally finding Madame Tracy but Crowley was only half listening. He almost didn’t dare to believe this was happening.

“What did Beelzebub _say_?” he asked suddenly when Aziraphale next stopped talking.

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale blinked, confused.

“What was I charged with? What did they _say_?”

“Well, I…” Aziraphale frowned thoughtfully, absently batting a fly away from his face. “Disobeying orders, fraternising with the enemy, betrayal of your lord and master, misuse of resources…erm…murder of a demon…” he raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting anything in particular?”

_Betrayal of your lord and master..._”And they didn’t go into any…details? About what I did, what _exactly_ I did?”

“Crowley, is this about what you said before? About me finding things out about you?” Aziraphale sighed. “No. There were no details. If you ever want to give me details then I will listen but until then, your secrets are yours to keep and I am perfectly happy with that. So relax.” He smiled warmly and reached out, taking Crowley’s hand. “We’re fine.”

Crowley couldn’t help smiling back. “We’re fine.” He repeated, letting himself believe it. Just for now.


	11. Chapter 11

Three weeks had passed since Armageddon’t, as Crowley had taken to calling it in his head. It had been three weeks of what Crowley could only describe as domestic bliss - he and Aziraphale had spent almost all their time together, out to dinner or the theatre or just sat in the back of the bookshop drinking and talking about inconsequential things. 

That was, however, all that they talked about.

Aziraphale had not brought up what happened between them and Crowley had a feeling he was waiting for Crowley to be the one to talk about it first. How ironic; now Aziraphale was waiting for _him_ to catch up. Several times Crowley had opened his mouth to speak about their kiss, but he always lost his nerve. There was a battle raging inside him and he had no idea what to do about it - on the one hand; they were free. Heaven and Hell were still keeping their distance, the world was carrying on as normal, they were together, and Aziraphale had no idea of the circumstances that had led to their being together. Crowley was a hairs breadth from everything he wanted. He kept going over that moment in the kitchen in his mind, the feel of Aziraphale’s mouth against his, the sound of his angel’s breath coming out in excited pants and gasps. He wanted more of that. He wanted to _keep_ that.

On the other hand…Crowley felt _guilty_.

He’d gone almost his entire life not feeling really, properly guilty. He’d felt remorse, of course, but it had never been more than a fleeting pang until Aziraphale. Until _you could tempt me_, until _I forgive you_, until _my dear, for so long_…now every time he looked at Aziraphale it was there, that twinge of anxiety and shame underneath everything else. Could he live with that for the rest of his life? The fact was that Crowley had begun this companionship, for want of a better word, under entirely false pretences. He may have fallen in love along the way, but he’d set out with nasty intentions towards Aziraphale. It was possible that Crowley had destroyed their relationship millennia before it had even begun.

And besides, it wasn’t even just about that, not really. There was also the issue of how much he should tell the angel. Did he tell him about heaven’s betrayal, about Gabriel’s knowledge and inaction? Would that make Crowley’s own actions seem better or worse? Or would it just destroy Aziraphale entirely, to know that everyone and everything that mattered to him wasn’t what he thought, wasn’t real…

_No. _Crowley’s eyes fell on Aziraphale. **_We’re_**_ real. We **are**_. They were sat in companionable silence in the back of the bookshop, reading. Well, Aziraphale was reading. Crowley was sat with an open book on his lap having a crisis but that was beside the point. Crowley loved watching Aziraphale read. He loved the way the angel would mouth along at times; the way his face pulled micro expressions as though he were experiencing the words on the page, the way he gave quiet huffs of laughter at something amusing. As Crowley watched, the angel turned a page and his lips quirked in a smile. Crowley’s heart ached.

He took a deep breath. _This is it_.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” He began haltingly. Aziraphale looked up at him, surprised. “Something I need to explain.” He picked at one fingernail nervously. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Ok…” Aziraphale gave him a concerned look. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know.” Crowley admitted.

“Well, what is it?” Aziraphale put down his book, giving Crowley his full attention.

“I…” Crowley laughed mirthlessly, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Crowley, you’re worrying me.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to…argh.” He ran his hands distractedly through his hair. Aziraphale went oddly still.

“Is this about what happened? Between us, I mean.”

Crowley shrugged. “No. Yes. Sort of.”

“Crowley, if you have regrets I’m not going to-”

“It’s not that, it’s…oh forget it.”

“Forget you started this conversation, or forget what happened?”

Crowley looked at him. Aziraphale looked so open and vulnerable and understanding in that moment that it was almost more than he could bear. How could he risk losing this? Losing the one thing that made everything worth it?

_Because you have to_. He knew he had to. He couldn’t let Aziraphale choose to be with him when the angel didn’t really know what he was choosing. “Neither.” He said, before he could talk himself out of it. “But…not now. Later. We’ll talk tonight. Dinner?”

“Sounds lovely.” Aziraphale said hesitantly, a concerned frown creasing his brow.

“I’ll pick you up at 7.” Crowley promised, standing up. “See you later.”

****

“So, Aziraphale, you remember how we met? Funny story….no. Um. Aziraphale, I need to tell you, after we met on the wall in Eden I had this idea…oh, fuck, no. Uh…Aziraphale, you should know that hell thinks…oh fuck.” Crowley flung himself into his throne chair with a growl. “Aziraphale, I was trying ever so hard to make you Fall but now I love you so everything’s fine, right?” he scoffed loudly. “And you’re no help.” He grumbled up at the ceiling. “Any suggestions as to how I make my grand confession, hmm? Didn’t think so.” He sighed, picking up a glass of red wine which hadn’t been there two seconds before and taking a long drink. The trouble was that there was no scenario where everything worked out ok. Crowley wasn’t stupid, he knew perfectly well that Aziraphale would be devastated when Crowley told him the truth. There was no way to control that. What Crowley _could_ control was _how_ he told him; he had to explain it in the right way so Aziraphale would listen, hopefully understand, and forgive him.

Because Crowley had to believe it wasn’t entirely unforgivable, what he’d done, no matter how he himself felt. He had to. Surely, after everything they’d been through, they were strong enough that this wouldn’t break them. He ran through what he would say over and over again, anxiety welling up inside him. He didn’t want to do this. He _really_ didn’t want to do this. Perhaps he could just go round, have dinner, talk about inconsequential things…and then what? They carry on as normal, with the guilt eating away at Crowley until he simply couldn’t take it anymore? However much he wanted it to, this wasn’t going to go away. Crowley glanced at the clock and swore loudly. Somehow he’d completely lost track of time, it was almost quarter to eight. He snapped his fingers, fixing his hair, and then with another snap he was in the Bentley, somehow already driving at 95MPH towards the bookshop.

****

Crowley stood outside the shop and took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. Steeling himself, he walked inside. “Aziraphale!” he called, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it next to the till. “Aziraphale?” He wandered through to the back room. Aziraphale was sat with his back to him, reading something. “There you are.” There was no reply. Crowley fidgeted nervously. Evidently Aziraphale was annoyed with him for his lateness, and Crowley wasn’t prepared to deal with the silent treatment. He needed Aziraphale’s full attention for this, and it had to happen now or he’d lose his nerve. “Look, I’m sorry, ok, I know I’m late, but I have a good reason. I just…angel?” He became aware of Aziraphale’s stiff posture, the way his breathing was slightly too fast. Something was wrong. Crowley’s eyes flicked hurriedly around the bookshop, but saw nothing amiss, and then focussed again on Aziraphale, before his gaze slipped from the angel to whatever he was reading and the world seemed to…_hitch_. He went cold. He stalked over to the desk and his worst fears were confirmed.

It was…everything. Every report, every photo, every memo. The history of his betrayal laid out before him; complete with handy index cards (Dagon had really outdone themselves this time.) Crowley licked his suddenly dry lips.

“Aziraphale-”

“Found it on my desk this afternoon. Thought it came from head office. Guessing it came from yours.” Aziraphale’s voice was calm. Too calm.

“Aziraphale, this isn’t…look, I can…”

Aziraphale looked up at him, then, and Crowley took an involuntary step back. Aziraphale’s eyes were red rimmed and terrifyingly blank.

“What, explain?” he looked back down at the file. “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“They’re trying to drive us apart.” Crowley said quickly. “You know that’s what they want, they-“

“Are you saying this is all lies?” Aziraphale said flatly. He looked back at Crowley. “Are you saying you didn’t propose that you make me Fall?”

Crowley swallowed heavily. It would be easy to lie, but there was no chance Aziraphale would believe him. “…no.” he said quietly. Aziraphale’s face seemed to crumple before he schooled it back into an impassive mask.

“I see.”

“Aziraphale, it’s not like that. Not anymore.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “It’s all here. Our ‘chance’ meetings. The Arrangement. The…” he closed his eyes as if in pain. “…the…_fraternising_. All perfectly planned to get to me. To corrupt me. To _burn_ me.”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley said quietly.

“Was any of it real?” Aziraphale asked brokenly. “Did you…feel…any of it?”

“Of course I did…I _do_.” Crowley reached out to grasp Aziraphale’s shoulder but thought better of it, letting his hand fall uselessly by his side. “I just…I didn’t know you.” He said simply. “I was young and I wanted to prove myself and you were…you weren’t like the others. So I thought I could bring you down. Aziraphale, I made a mistake, it was over 6000 years ago-“

“But it wasn’t, was it? The plan may have been, but you’ve been…_plotting against me_ this entire time.”

“Not the entire time.” He said sharply.

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked back to the file on the desk. “Go on, then, tell me; when did I earn the right not to be cast into hell?” his voice was commanding, and a bit too loud, and sounded desperately broken.

“What do you want me to say?” Crowley asked quietly.

“I want you to tell me the truth.”

Crowley took a breath. “Does it make a difference?”

“Yes. No. I don’t...you wanted…” Aziraphale broke off. “Everything that you’ve ever said has been a lie. Everything that made me…care…for you. It was all a lie. I was just a project to you.”

“No.” Crowley said sharply. “No, you were…ok, in the beginning, yes, but then I spent time with you, I got to know you, I fell in lo…” he snapped his mouth shut. Not the time. “I was going to tell you about this, all of this, tonight. That’s what I was talking about earlier. I was just trying to find the right words, the best way to explain. I didn’t want to hurt you. I have never wanted to hurt you. All I ever wanted was to bring you down to my level, and yes, I know that was wrong and I regret it every single day but it’s the past. Everything is in the past. Aziraphale, please-”

Aziraphale glanced at a notecard. “Your latest update was a month before Warlock's birthday.” He said flatly.

“I…I was lying to them.” Crowley protested desperately. “Listen to me-”

“You need to leave.”

“Please don’t do this.”

Aziraphale looked away from him, resting his face in his hands and rubbing his temples. “Please, leave, Crowley. Before I do something I regret.” He said tiredly.

“Aziraphale-”

“Go.” It was said in a broken whisper. Crowley wished he had shouted. An angry Aziraphale he could cope with, but _this_ Aziraphale, so utterly broken, was more than he knew how to handle and his heart shattered at the sight. Crowley hesitated for a second longer, then turned and left without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up this chapter continues being pretty angsty!

“Aziraphale, it’s me. It’s Crowley. I shouldn’t have left like that…I mean, I know you told me to, but still…look, can we talk? Call me back.”

****

“Aziraphale? It’s me again. I just want to talk to you. It’s really not how you think it is. Just…please call me back.”

****

“It’s me. Please just answer the phone, we really need to talk.”

****

“Me again. I went by the shop again, you’re still not there…I’ll try later.”

****

“Aziraphale, you can’t ignore me forever.”

****

“Look, I’m sorry I said that, just…call me back.”

****

“Aziraphale. Just let me explain. Even if you never talk to me again afterwards, just…please give me a chance.”

****

“The shop’s still empty. Aziraphale, I just need to know you’re alright. Let me know you’re alright.”

****

“Aziraphale, please.”

****

“I miss you.”

****

_The user’s voicemail inbox is full._

****

T_he user’s voicemail inbox is full._

****

_The user’s voicemail inbox is full…_

****

Crowley stared up at his bedroom ceiling.

When he’d first opened his eyes he’d wondered, not for the first time, if the whole thing had just been some terrible dream. How else could everything still seem so…normal? Why else would birds still be singing, and people still going about their lives – how else would the universe still be carrying on after something so monumentally _wrong_ had happened?

But the denial couldn’t last for long. Beelzebub had, for once, outthought him. Taken matters into their own hands and provided Aziraphale with the whole sorry story. The fact that they had it all so carefully organised led Crowley to believe they’d had some sort of backup plan all along, not that it mattered now - what mattered was that Aziraphale had what he believed to be the truth, but that Crowley knew to be a heavily edited embellished version of the truth…at least from a point. But Aziraphale wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t accept that this was anything other than gospel. With a sigh, Crowley swung his legs out of bed. It had been eight days since _that_ evening, and he’d neither seen nor heard anything from Aziraphale. His phone calls and messages went unanswered, the bookshop remained resolutely closed and silent, and the protective wards Aziraphale had placed around it had been strengthened to the point that it made Crowley ill to even get close to the place.

He stood up and padded through to the kitchen, boiling his kettle in a split second and making himself a cup of coffee. The rich bitterness swept over his tongue, chasing away the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. He had to see Aziraphale. He had to. Crowley had kept his distance but with every unanswered message he grew more anxious. Even if the angel refused to speak to him, he had to see that he was ok. Even though he knew how painful it would be (both emotionally and physically – those wards were the strongest he’d ever come across), he had to keep trying. With a snap of his fingers he was dressed and his hair immaculate, and he headed straight downstairs to where the Bentley was parked. Queen’s ‘You’re my Best Friend’ started up as soon as he started the engine and Crowley flinched, switching it off quickly with a growl. “Don’t you turn against me too.” He scolded the car. “I don’t need you torturing me.” He drove towards the shop, could feel the pressure in the base of his skull the closer he got. Nausea rose up inside him and he wondered if his head might actually explode if he tried to go inside. He parked as close as he dared and began walking, trying to ignore the pain in his head and the urge to turn and flee in the opposite direction as fast as he could. He got as close as he felt he could and then stopped. He could see the shop was still closed, but he knew that if Aziraphale was in there he would be perfectly aware of Crowley’s presence. He _must_ be in there, the wards wouldn’t still be up if something had happened to him, surely? Crowley wondered if his body could take the strain of his getting closer. Worth a try. He took a deep, steadying breath and then hesitated as he tasted something on the air. He sniffed deeply, just to make sure.

_Gabriel_.

Crowley was instantly on high alert. Gabriel was here. In the shop. With Aziraphale. He had to get closer; there was no option. He skulked silently closer, the pressure and pain in his skull increasing to the point he genuinely wandered if he was going to pass out. But he had to know what was going on. If Gabriel was there, Aziraphale wasn’t safe. He moved forwards, until he could see the pair of them through the little window in the back room. He felt a tickle under his nose and wiped his hand across it to find it stained with fresh blood. A nosebleed. Fantastic. Crowley hoped he wasn’t doing his corporation any permanent harm being here, because no way in heaven was he leaving now. He strained his ears, tuning out the background noise and focusing on the conversation going on inside.

“…it was wrong.” Gabriel was saying. “The truth is Aziraphale, you are a huge asset to heaven, and we are truly sorry for what we did. We might have…gotten ahead of ourselves. Moved forwards without proper authorisation from The Almighty.”

“I see.”

“We know things got a little…strained. And I wanted to let you know; we forgive you.”

Crowley growled. How dare they? _How dare they_? Aziraphale had done nothing that needed forgiveness. Aziraphale was clearly not going to accept this either, because he folded his arms and glared at Gabriel.

“_You_ forgive…? You tried to _kill_ me!”

“Yes. And as I said, we apologise.”

“And _I’m_ supposed to just forgive _you_?”

Gabriel looked baffled. “Well of course you are. You’re an angel. Aren’t you?”

Aziraphale looked hurt. “Of course.”

“Then we agree. We can all move past this little…” he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, “unpleasant episode. Go back to how things were. With you a fully reinstated Heavenly being.” He smiled widely. Aziraphale returned the smile weakly.

“There would be no…repercussions?”

“Definitely not.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, and then hesitated. “And…Crowley?”

Crowley startled, not expecting to hear his name brought in to this. Where was Aziraphale going with this? Was he about to have some sort of heavenly hit squad sent after him?

“What about the demon?”

Crowley waited with bated breath. Aziraphale fiddled with the ring on his little finger.

“I…don’t want him harmed.”

Gabriel frowned. “You don’t want him harmed?” he repeated. “But what about what he’s-“

“If I come back, those are my terms.” Aziraphale nodded decisively, a small swallow and the trembling in his fingers the only giveaway that he was nervous. Crowley doubted Gabriel even noticed them. “Crowley is to be left alone.”

_Ouch_. Even after everything, Aziraphale was trying to protect him. Crowley tried to tell himself this was a good sign, a sign that perhaps he could one day be forgiven, but in spite of knowing that that may be true, all it did was reiterate to Crowley just how he’d damaged this wonderful, beautiful creature. He had never deserved Aziraphale’s regard.

Gabriel shrugged. “Fine. We’ll leave the demon be.” He hesitated. “And on that topic…I trust we can move past my little indiscretion.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Indiscretion?”

“I should have intervened, I see that now. I let politics cloud my judgement. I give you my word that what happened will not happen again. Just…there’s no need to mention my part to anyone.”

“I don’t...I mean, yes, of course.”

Crowley winced. Aziraphale had no idea what he had just agreed to forget about. How could he? Crowley had never had the chance to tell him about Gabriel’s involvement, and Beelzebub’s folder had made no mention of the Archangel. He couldn’t watch any more. He turned and hurried back to the Bentley, stopping only to be violently sick in someone’s front garden. The further he got from the shop the easier it was to breathe, the more the pressure and pain in his skull abated, but there was a different pain now; the thought that Aziraphale was actually considering going back to Heaven, without having the first idea about the truth. Crowley drove back towards his flat without really thinking about it - luckily the Bentley knew better than to hit anything or anyone or Crowley might have gotten into a few accidents.

****

“I have to tell him.” Crowley announced to his Mona Lisa sketch some hours and several bottles of wine later. “I can’t let him forgive the prick.” The sketch did not reply, and Crowley took another swig from his bottle. He would call Aziraphale…wait. No. Answerphone full. He’d go round there then, fling things at the shop if he had to until the angel came out and acknowledged him. Yes. That was a wonderful plan. “I have to…right.” He stood up and immediately staggered into his desk. He blinked. “Probably better to do this sober.” He admitted to himself, closing his eyes and purging the alcohol from his system. He grimaced at the stale aftertaste. What was he doing? Oh yes, he was going to go and throw things at…wait. No, that was a _terrible_ plan. What on earth was he thinking? All that would do would piss Aziraphale off, that was the last thing he should do.

But he did have to find a way to warn him about Gabriel. Before he did something stupid like re-join heaven and…wait. Crowley ran through the eavesdropped conversation in his mind, desperately hoping he was wrong. Because now that he thought about it, it was possible that this reinstatement was with immediate effect. Meaning Aziraphale might have already done it. Aziraphale might have _left_.

_No_. Surely he wouldn’t leave so suddenly. He had his bookshop after all, even if he thought that was all he had. Aziraphale had to still be on earth, he just had to be. Crowley would go round there again, wards be damned, and he’d throw everything that wasn’t nailed down in the whole bloody street through Aziraphale’s front window if that’s what it took to get an audience with the angel. He had to leave, right now. Grabbing his leather jacket from where he’d discarded it over the back of a chair he strode over to the front door, swung it open, and froze.

“Aziraphale?”

The angel was stood just outside his front door, and Crowley got the feeling he’d been stood there for a while. He opened his mouth to say something but Aziraphale spoke first.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop calling me. Stop sending me messages. Stop trying to see me.”

“I’m just trying to explain-” Crowley began. Aziraphale held up a hand to silence him.

“Well I don’t want to hear it. I want you to leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale glared. “You can and you will. If you ever truly -” his voice broke and he cleared his throat. “If you ever truly…cared about me then you will leave me alone.”

“Please don’t ask that of me.” Crowley begged. Aziraphale took a shuddering breath, the calm façade cracking.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Aziraphale sounded absolutely wrecked. “Do you take so much pleasure from torturing me?”

Crowley shook his head. “I’m not trying to torture you. Aziraphale, this is killing me. Look at me, you know me. You know me better than anyone, you said so-”

“I was wrong.”

“You _weren’t_ wrong. You knew there was something better in me even before I did, you made me see I had the capacity for…goodness. You changed me, you have to see that, you have to see I’m still on our side-“

“There is no our side.” Aziraphale stood up a little straighter. “And there never will be. Gabriel came to see me.”

Crowley tried to look like this was news to him. “Oh?”

“They’re willing to take me back into the fold.”

Hope flared within him. “You haven’t agreed yet?”

“I’m on my way to head office now to tell Gabriel I accept.”

Crowley shook his head. “I can’t let you do that. You can’t trust him.”

“Of course I can.”

“You can’t-”

“He’s an angel.”

“Please just-”

“Unlike you he’s never lied to me-“

“Aziraphale, _he_ _knew_.”

A deafening silence followed these words. Crowley swallowed nervously. He had never meant to just blurt it out like that. Aziraphale stared at him, his face flicking through a range of complicated emotions.

“What?” He whispered eventually.

Crowley shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just drop that on you.” He sighed heavily. “He’s known for a long time, and he didn’t do anything to stop it. So you have to see, you can’t trust him.” _What he did is worse than anything I’ve done. Don’t you see that? Please see that._ “Aziraphale I am so sorry-”

“That’s a lie.” Aziraphale said quietly. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I…I…I don’t know, to try and discredit him, to try and win me back-“

“I hardly think lies are going to do that, are they?! Aziraphale, I’m not lying. At your trial, when he thought I was you, he told me…he _told me_.”

Aziraphale’s eyes desperately searched Crowley’s face for something, and then his knees seemed to give way and he sagged against the door frame. Crowley started forwards automatically, reaching out to steady Aziraphale. At the touch of Crowley’s hands Aziraphale flinched sharply but he didn’t push him away.

“So I’m alone.” Aziraphale said quietly, staring at the floor. “I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, blinking heavily as if awakening from a trance. And then before Crowley had time to do anything more than blink, Aziraphale was kissing him.

Crowley surrendered himself to it, allowing Aziraphale to push him backward into the flat, until his back met the wall with enough force that it knocked the wind out of him. Crowley gasped. Aziraphale swallowed the noise, kissing Crowley heatedly. Crowley pushed at Aziraphale’s jacket and Aziraphale shrugged it off, tossing it to one side before attacking Crowley with his mouth again, pressing open mouthed kisses to his throat. He nipped at Crowley’s collarbone and Crowley felt a sharp sting as he bit just a little bit too hard.

_Something is wrong_.

Crowley’s brain, which had basically gone offline at the first press of Aziraphale’s lips, booted back up. This wasn’t right. Aziraphale was being too insistent, too harsh, too desperate. This didn’t feel like love, or passion, or desire. This felt like punishment, although which of them was being punished Crowley wasn’t sure.

“Aziraphale.” Aziraphale ignored him. “Aziraphale…Aziraphale _stop_!” he gently grabbed Aziraphale’s arms and pushed him away. He wasn’t about to let Aziraphale use him to hurt himself. “Just…stop.” Aziraphale instantly tore himself out of Crowley’s grip.

“Why?” Aziraphale almost shouted, suddenly angry. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?! For me to give in to temptation, for me to sin!” his hands were shaking. “I would have Fallen for you, do you understand that?!” Pain gripped Crowley’s chest at that admission, “I would have done it for _you_! And it doesn’t matter, because _this_ is what it was all about!”

The pain was suddenly overlaid by a cold fury. Aziraphale _wasn’t listening_. “If this is all I wanted I could have had you back in Paris.” he snarled. Aziraphale went very still, all the fight seeming to drain suddenly out of him. He stared at Crowley.

“Paris?” He said quietly.

Crowley panicked, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He could almost see Aziraphale’s thought process – that was the first moment that Aziraphale, unprompted by Crowley, had shown himself willing to defy heaven. In Aziraphale’s eyes, it was probably his greatest moment of weakness. And here was Crowley, throwing it back at him, kicking him when he was down.

When Aziraphale spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Why would you…?”

“Aziraphale-”

“I’m leaving.”

“No!” Crowley moved towards him, arms outstretched as if to grasp hold of him. “Aziraphale, Please please please. Listen-” Aziraphale inhaled sharply, then released a shaky breath. Crowley forced himself to step backwards again, away from Aziraphale, giving him space. “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale shook his head and, without looking at Crowley, turned and left the flat, slamming the door behind him. Crowley was acutely aware of how quiet it was all of a sudden. He slid down the wall onto the floor, bringing his knees up in front of him. With a shaking hand he reached out and picked up Aziraphale’s jacket from where it was still lying, discarded, next to him and hugged it close. Crowley hadn’t thought he could hurt any more than he had when Aziraphale had first discovered what he’d done, but that pain was _nothing_ compared to this. Tears filled his eyes and he buried his face in the jacket, shielding himself from the emptiness around him as his tears began to fall.

****

Crowley had no idea how long he’d been sitting on the floor clutching that stupid jacket. It could have been weeks, months, years even – what difference did it make? Aziraphale was gone. Crowley had hardly been expecting the angel to forgive him outright, but he hadn’t anticipated this…this _visceral_ reaction. Aziraphale was evidently more hurt and angry than Crowley could even comprehend.

_You did that to him. You. He could have been happy if you’d just left him alone, carried on with your miserable existence in Hell like you deserve._ Crowley rubbed at his eyes. Seeing Aziraphale’s reactions, how much it had hurt him, threw Crowley’s past into stark relief. He saw himself more clearly than he ever had before. Looking back now at whom he had been made him feel sick to his stomach. He’d seen Aziraphale as no more than a pawn, a means to an end. He was no better than Hastur.

“Is this why you cast me out?” Crowley said quietly, gazing upwards. “Could you see this in me all along?” Like always, there was no answer. Crowley wondered what he’d do if one of these days he actually got a response. He snorted. “Of course you did. You see everything, don’t you? Bloody…perfect…_fucking_…” he slammed his fist into the wall, cracking the plaster. “Why didn’t _you_ stop me?!” he hissed. “Where were _you_ when Gabriel was watching from the side-lines, hmm? Where were _you_ when I was busy destroying the best angel you ever made?” and he _was_ the best. Crowley knew he was biased, of course, but even viewing it objectively he knew there was no way that Aziraphale could have stood by and observed the destruction of another like Gabriel had done, like Crowley was sure the other angels would have done if they’d known.

The plan would probably have worked perfectly if he’d targeted any angel but Aziraphale. But then it was Aziraphale’s differences that had _made_ him Crowley’s target in the first place. Perhaps that meant something.

Perhaps not.

_Either way, there’s no point sitting on the floor for the rest of eternity,_ Crowley thought, standing up. He felt…lost. In a way he never had before. He’d always had someone to turn to when he was troubled, in Heaven and in Hell. On Earth, he’d always had Aziraphale. And now he was alone. Just him, Crowley, and nobody to turn to. He didn’t have Aziraphale anymore. He definitely didn’t have Lucifer anymore. Hell, he didn’t even have Beelzebub anymore, not that he’d want them.

_Beelzebub_.

This was their doing. They’d sent the file, they’d made this far more complicated and painful than it had to be. Crowley had sworn to himself, once, that he wouldn’t let Hell harm Aziraphale. It might have been too late to entirely keep that promise, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take revenge. With a renewed sense of purpose, Crowley quickly grabbed some things from around the flat and stormed out, slamming the front door behind him with a snap of his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst, I know! I promise it will start getting better for our poor boys soon!  
Thank you so much to everyone who's sticking with this, it means a lot!


	13. Chapter 13

Despite having been here literally hundreds of times before, it felt strange to be standing in the atrium now. Last time he was here he’d just walked out of Heaven, convinced that was the last time he’d ever set foot in the place. And now here he was, about to begin that familiar downwards saunter to Hell. Except this time there would be no reports, no fake smiles and even faker words. This time Crowley was going to make a point.

One nobody would forget in a hurry.

It got colder as he descended and Crowley pulled his jacket tighter around himself. He hated coming down here. Where humans had gotten the idea that hell was full of fire he would never know – there were the burning sulphur pits, of course, and some of the tortures did involve hellfire, but most of hell was just unbearably cold.

Crowley couldn't help but what sort of reception he was going to get. From what Aziraphale had told him, his execution had caused quite the disturbance. Which meant one of two things – either they would avoid him and run, or they would attack. There was no middle ground with demons, it was either kill or be killed. Crowley had to be prepared for either eventuality.

The first demon he encountered after stepping off the escalator took one look at him and fainted. Crowley blinked down at them. _Like some Victorian heroine,_ Crowley shook his head, _pathetic_. It was a good sign, but he wasn’t going to make the mistake of assuming everyone would be so terrified of him though, it wouldn’t do to announce his presence to too many people. He had to make sure he got to Beelzebub and the less resistance he encountered the better. He moved stealthily through the seemingly endless identical corridors, keeping to the shadows, until he found himself outside Beelzebub’s chamber. Without hesitation, he pushed the door open and strode inside, slamming it behind him. Beelzebub was sat at their desk, writing. They stilled as he entered the room.

“Crowley.” They looked up. “Do you have an appointment?” They looked almost bored, except for the muscle twitching just beneath their right eye. Crowley growled. He wasn’t going to play this game.

“Why did you send it?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Beelzebub smirked, not even pretending not to know what Crowley meant. “I had to do szomething with it, clearly it wasn’t going to be any good to me anymore, with you abandoning the project, so-“

“We had an agreement that you would leave me alone.”

Beelzebub nodded. “We did. We also had an agreement that you would give me a Fallen angel. Looks like neither of us can be truszted to keep our word.”

Crowley shook his head. “What exactly did you think would happen, here, Bee?” Beelzebub’s eyes flashed angrily and they let out a low growl. “Hmm? Did you really think you could just destroy him and not face any consequences?”

“Be careful Crowley. Remember where you are and who you’re talking to.”

“Oh? What will you do? Douse me in Holy Water?” Crowley forced a laugh. “Oh wait. You tried that already.” Beelzebub’s eyes flicked over to the door. “Oh, by all means, bring in more guests. I’ll get to them anyway, might as well make it easier for me; gather everyone in one room.”

“Alright, sztop.” Beelzebub glared at him. Crowley raised his eyebrows questioningly. “You talk about consequences? This wasz your consequence. For betraying usz.”

“My consequences _are mine_.” Crowley growled, taking a step towards the desk. “They are _nothing_ to do with him. You should have left him out of it!”

Beelzebub stood up, but Crowley noticed they did not move from their position, keeping the desk between them. So they _were_ scared of him. That was good. “Left him out of it?” Beelzebub scoffed. “He’s right in the middle of it you idiot! And I thought it was only fair, only the _right thing to do,_ to make szure the angel knew who he was getting into bed with.” they tutted. “Of course it was only afterwards I found out he already knew.” They said, sounding disappointed. “Gabriel is such a _dick_. He just couldn’t keep it to himself. Still, even if the truth didn’t scare him off it seems my providing him with the gory detailsz had the intended effect of making him reject you. Poor Crowley-”

With a snarl, Crowley launched himself over the desk and pinned Beelzebub to the wall by their throat. Evidently this was a complete surprise to them or Crowley doubted he’d have managed it. Of the two of them, Beelzebub was definitely the better fighter. There was a reason they had ascended to Prince of Hell after all. They pushed back but he held on tight.

“I could do it, you know.” He said dangerously. “Hurt you. How long do you think you’d last?”

Beelzebub growled. “Oh don’t bother. I know you, Crowley,” they spat, “you’re not like us. You’re weak. You don’t have the sztomach to do anything to me.”

“See that’s where you’re wrong.” Crowley hissed, pushing his face in close to Beelzebub, trying to ignore the rotten stench emanating from them. “I might not enjoy torturing humans, torturing innocents, but you…you are a different story.” His hand tightened around their throat. “I know just how to cause you pain, and how far to push it to ensure you don’t discorporate, but you will beg for it. You will beg for me to end your suffering, as countless humans have begged you. You should have thought about this before you went after _him_. Because you’re right, you _do_ know me. You’ve known me since the beginning, since we were angels, since we…” he trailed off, frowning. “Since we were angels.” He said again, quietly.

_…you were an angel, once…that was a long time ago…_

Beelzebub was watching him, eyes narrowed. “What?” they demanded. Crowley blinked.

“We were there, together, you and me.” He said quietly, loosening his hold on Beelzebub’s neck just enough that they were able to push him away. Crowley staggered back, staring.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Beelzebub growled. Their eyes darted to the desk but they made no move to retrieve any weapon. “What is this game now?”

“How can you be so different?” He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. “You were-

  


_\- Beautiful.” The red headed angel said softly. “I really must congratulate you on your work, it truly is exquisite.” The dark haired angel he was talking to smiled._

_“Thank you.”_

_“What will they be like, do you think? The…what did She call them?”_

_“Humans. From what I’ve heard they’re like us, only they will not think for themselves. They will not know the truth of the universe.”_

_“Why would She do that?”_

_The dark haired angel frowned. “Because it is Her plan.”_

_“But what sort of an existence will that be?”_

_“You ask a lot of questions.”_

_The red haired angel raised an eyebrow. “You forget your place.”_

_“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir.” They looked down at their feet._

_“No, don’t so that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Your place is the same as mine, I hate all this ‘sir’ business. We are all equals in Her eyes, are we not?”_

_“Not all of us build the stars.” The other angel muttered._

_“But that’s got nothing to do with _me_. My position is merely an accident of circumstance. I happen to have been one of the first, so I was assigned as such. I didn’t earn my place. I didn’t work for it. It just…is. We are all vital to Her plan. We are all-_

\- a part of it.” Crowley said quietly. “And now look at you. Look at _us_. You’re right. I’m…I’m _not_ like you.” Such a meaningless conversation in the grand scheme of things. It was unsurprising that he would have forgotten it. But with the memory came a realisation. He remembered heaven, of course he did, he remembered his work, he remembered Lucifer and their closeness which ended up being the cause of his downfall. He remembered working alongside other angels, he remembered Gabriel and his entourage…but now it was as if he was viewing everything through a broken lens – what he’d thought was clear, he suddenly realised was grainy and distorted and the colours were not quite right. And parts were missing, he was sure of it…He shook his head, clearing it. This was not the place to be having this sort of breakdown. He refocused on Beelzebub just in time to see them leap towards him, teeth bared. Crowley just managed to parry the attack, sending Beelzebub spinning in to the wall. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Crowley withdrew a small plastic bottle, shaking it lightly so Beelzebub could see the crystal clear water swishing inside. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” he scolded. They froze, gaze fixed on the bottle.

_Well done, Crowley. What do you do now? _

Crowley’s nerves were on fire – the bottle was nothing more than tap water, something for him to drink on the way to hell (he didn’t need to drink water, of course, but he’d wanted to drink _something_ and he didn’t think going into hell tipsy was the best way forward.) This had gotten way out of hand all of a sudden, if Beelzebub called his bluff…he kept his nerves well hidden, smiling toothily. “So what’s your next move?” He slowly unscrewed the lid. Beelzebub’s gaze flicked from the bottle to Crowley and back again and then, to Crowley’s great surprise and horror, they spread their arms in invitation.

“Go on then.” They hissed. Crowley paused.

_Shit_.

“…What?”

“Throw it. Go on.”

“I can destroy you with this.”

“Be my gueszt.” Beelzebub grinned, although a nervous energy still crackled around them. “See, I’ve been thinking about this. I don’t want anyone to know about our little failed project. I broke certain rules, gave you certain resources, made allowancesz, you know. But there’s no reason _you_ wouldn’t want everyone knowing.”

Crowley’s useless, pointless heart was hammering traitorously in his chest. “So? I…I can tell everyone right now.”

“Yes. You could. You didn’t at your execution, though, did you? Kept nice and quiet about it then. Now, why would that be I wonder? Unless, of course, you somehow managed to trick usz. Unless, of course, _that_ _waszn’t you_.”

Crowley snorted derisively, even as his stomach gave a lurch of terror. _No. No, don’t go there, don’t think about it._ “Who else would it have been? Of course it was me. I wouldn’t have missed that for the world.”

“Then prove it.”

Crowley hesitated, his mind racing. Whatever plan he’d had when he came down here was long gone, he was flying completely blind. _Quick. Think. **Think**_. _Use that useless imagination of yours or you won’t be getting out of here again. You’ll die in the dark and the cold._

_You’ll never see Aziraphale again._

“Fine.” He fully unscrewed the lid, throwing it carelessly over his shoulder. “I will prove it. But, before I do – just for argument’s sake – say you were right and I somehow managed to hoodwink the lot of you, just say, _for a_ _second_, I succeeded in doing that. And now I’ve come down here with this bottle, and you seem to be assuming it’s, what, regular tap water? But…I have to ask…what about that scenario makes you think it’s not holy water?”

“Because that would kill you.” Beelzebub said slowly, mockingly, as if talking to a particularly stupid toddler. Crowley pulled a face of mock consideration.

“True. True. If you were right – and I’m not saying you are, but _if_ you were – then holy water would kill me, yes. So…I’ve tricked you, escaped, yada yada, come down here, etc, etc…but here’s the thing.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve shown Aziraphale what I am. You’ve taken away the most important thing I had. So, you say holy water would kill me…what makes you think I would care?”

“You don’t want to die.”

“No.” Crowley said truthfully. “I don’t. But, hypothetically, if what you’re saying is true, that _might_ be a sacrifice I was willing to make if it brought you lot down with me. But, as I said, this _is_ all assuming you’re right and it _wasn’t_ me in that bath of Holy water asking for a rubber duck.”

“It…waszn’t.” Beelzebub said, although they sounded a lot less certain now.

“Ok.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Fine. If that’s what you think.” Crowley smiled, displaying his fangs. “Willing to bet on your life?”

“I…” Beelzebub’s eyes flicked from the bottle to Crowley again. Crowley shrugged.

“Ok.” _Moment of truth. In five seconds I’ll either be home free or I’ll have signed my death warrant. _ He pulled back his arm as if to throw some of the contents of the bottle over Beelzebub, and the Prince of Hell suddenly flinched, backing up a step.

“Ok, sztop, szzzztop!” Crowley paused, lowering his arm. _Oh thank Somebody_. Crowley felt quite dizzy with relief. “Ok, Crowley.” They said quietly. “You’ve made your point.”

“Oh, I haven’t even _begun_ to make my point.” Crowley snarled, holding himself together just barely. “And if you _ever_ go near Aziraphale again, or me for that matter, I will be back to _make_ my point. I will bring plenty more water. We could have a pool party.” He raised the bottle again. “Nod if you understand.” Slowly, Beelzebub nodded. Crowley smiled. “Good.” He picked up the lid from the floor, put it on, and slipped the bottle into his pocket before sauntering casually out of the room and slamming the door behind him. Once he was alone in the corridor, he broke in to a run; hurrying back towards the escalator and heading back up into the sunlight. He felt even less at ease than he’d been before his trip into hell. Once he was far enough from Head Office he pulled the bottle out of his pocket and threw it into the nearest bin. That was…too close. When he’d pulled the bottle out, he hadn’t been expecting Beelzebub to call his bluff, to realise what was going on. _I mean, it’s **Beelzebub**. They’re even thicker than Ligur and he’s dead._ He just had to hope that he’d convinced Beelzebub that everything was as it had seemed and he really was immune to holy water, or else things could get ugly later on. And then there was the matter of that memory, and the sudden clarity it had brought with it. He’d not really given much thought to what any of the Fallen had been like in heaven, in truth he now realised he had no memory of most of them at all, and that terrified him. Because Beelzebub…had been _good_. They’d helped to create and shape something beautiful, just as he had done, and now they were bitter and twisted and…

Was Hastur like that? Had Ligur been?

And if so, what did that make Crowley?

With a groan, he turned into the nearest pub doorway. He needed a drink. This was too much to deal with sober. The barman looked up as he collapsed on to a bar stool.

“What can I get you?”

“Whiskey. Whatever’s best.”

“Single or double?”

“The bottle.” The barman laughed, and Crowley glared at him. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

His face fell. “I’d have to charge you per shot.” He warned.

“And?”

“O…kay…I mean, I’ll have to go down to the cellar for a new bottle.”

“Fine.” Crowley rested his head in his hands. “You do that.” He heard the man walk away, and let out a low groan. There was a thought he was trying to grasp, just out of reach, and he couldn’t get to it through the swirl of other thoughts and memories in his head. Every time he came close, he just kept thinking about Aziraphale.

_…you were an angel, once…that was a long time ago…a long time ago…a long time ago..._

It _had _been a long time ago. But was he really so different? Crowley lifted his head and looked down at his hands, turning them over and over, examining the palms and trying to imagine them forging and shaping the stars. He couldn’t quite make the image fit. He frowned. They had burned, he remembered, burned with a fire and energy so pure, so holy, that it had almost frightened him. Other angels had spoken with awe about his work, about _him_, and it had felt…how had it felt? Good? Indifferent? There was a definite block in his memory, that absence of emotion that had come with the Fall. _Perhaps_, Crowley thought bitterly, _we’d all be better off if we did still remember. How can we be expected to be anything but evil when every sense of emotion is stolen from us, when we can’t remember what it is to be loved?_

And then Aziraphale’s face swam back into his mind and Crowley’s breath caught in his throat.

_Or how to love someone else…?_

“That’ll be…erm…£94.60 please.” The barman placed the bottle down next to him. Crowley blinked stupidly at him for a few seconds before reaching in to his pocket and pulling out a handful of £20 notes which may or may not have been there a second ago.

“Keep the change.” He said, unscrewing the bottle and taking a swig.

“Do you want a glass? Ice?”

“No.” Crowley gestured that he should leave, and settled down to what was going to be a very long drinking session.

“Are you alright?” came a woman’s voice. Crowley looked to the side to see someone had taken a seat at the bar near him. He glared at her.

“Oh peachy.” He said sarcastically, turning back to the bottle. The woman ordered a drink. Crowley glanced at her. What was her problem? Plenty of empty tables at this time of day, why was she sat here? It was hard to wallow in misery with an audience. Although…humans did have good ideas sometimes. Perhaps he could use this one as a sounding board, so to speak… “What’s your name?” Crowley asked suddenly. The woman blinked.

“Why?”

“Conversation.”

“Gina.” She glanced around. “What’s yours?”

“Crowley.” He took another large gulp of whiskey. “Nice to meet you.”

****

“So let me get this straight…” Gina frowned. “You started hanging out with this guy with the intention of basically destroying his life?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Ok, well first of all you are a really shitty person. I mean, seriously. What is wrong with you? I’m sorry but Jesus Christ.”

Crowley glowered at her. “Yes, thank you, I’m fully aware of that.”

“Second of all, why are you even talking to me about this?”

“Because I can’t talk to him.” Crowley sighed. “If I can just get him to listen to me, hear what I have to say-”

“Why should he?” Gina interrupted. Crowley blinked.

“What?”

“Why should he?” She repeated.

“Well…because I need to tell him how sorry I am. I need to-“

“You need to make yourself feel better, is what I’m hearing. _You_ want to see him. _You_ want to talk to him. What about what _he_ wants?”

Crowley stared at her. “I don’t want to make myself feel better, I want to make him feel better. I want him to be happy.”

“Bullshit.”

“He was happy with me.”

“No. He was happy with who he thought you were. He was happy with the man who encouraged his interests and made him feel safe. That’s not you.”

“Of course it’s me! I’ve not suddenly turned into a whole other person have I?” Crowley asked in disgust.

“That’s not for you to decide.” Gina said firmly. “Look, do you want my advice? I’m going to assume you do because you’ve been telling me about this shit for the past fifteen minutes. Back off. Seriously. Leave the guy alone. If he wants to talk to you he will bloody well find you, and if he doesn’t then you hounding the poor bloke isn’t going to make that change-”

Crowley snapped his fingers irritably and Gina’s expression went blank. He glared at her. _Bloody useless human. What does she know? She doesn’t even know him, or me._ “Forget you ever met me.” Crowley drained the whiskey bottle and stood up, heading for the exit. He hesitated. He turned back, reluctantly. “You will wake, having dreamt of whatever you like best.” He snapped his fingers again and left, leaving her sat blinking in confusion.

****

**EIGHT HOURS LATER**

Crowley sat at his desk, gazing into the distance.

He usually found the quiet relaxing, peaceful, something to be enjoyed – now it just felt oppressive. There was an itch at the back of his brain, telling him something was missing. Of course, he knew what it was, it was the same thing that had been missing ever since _that_ night - Aziraphale was missing. It was pathetic really, in a way. 6000 years of going decades - if not centuries - without seeing each other and it only took eleven years of at least tri-weekly meetings followed by three weeks of living in each other’s pockets for Aziraphale to become an integral part of Crowley’s day to day life.

How long would it take, he wondered, to stop missing him?

Right now it felt impossible. There was an Aziraphale shaped hole in his world and there was no filling it. It seemed entirely probable it would always be there, gnawing away at his subconscious, torturing him for his sins. It was no more than he deserved, really, he supposed.

He pulled open a drawer of his desk, rummaged for a few seconds, and pulled out a picture of himself and Aziraphale. He wasn’t entirely sure when it had been taken, somewhere back in 2012 he thought. _Yes, that was it_. When humanity had lost their minds about the world apparently ending, and so Crowley had persuaded Aziraphale that they needed a day off and they’d gone to watch some doomsday cult leader realise he was wrong, and Crowley had wanted a picture to remember the day. He traced a finger delicately over the angel’s features. He looked so happy. And Crowley had stolen that from him. Had hurt him…

…_Why are you doing this to me? Do you take so much pleasure out of torturing me?..._

…was still hurting him. Crowley swore quietly. Much as he hated to admit it, that woman Gina had been right. Aziraphale needed space. But it was more than that, he realised now. It wasn’t just about giving the angel time. It wasn’t about keeping his distance.

Crowley had to let him go.

He would stop writing to him. Stop calling him. Stop trying to see him. Make sure he was never even in the same country just in case they happened to run in to each other. Maybe, if he was very lucky, they’d find each other again a few centuries from now and Crowley would be able to experience a fraction of the friendship he’d grown to depend on again. Because this _hurt_. The idea that he might never see Aziraphale again was a physical pain that he couldn’t even think about. He pressed his lips against the photograph, before standing up and walking over to his wall safe. Removing the sketch, he opened it and placed the photograph inside.

“Goodbye, Aziraphale.” He said softly, closing the door. He sagged against the wall, screwing his eyes shut and putting his hands over his face in an attempt to stop his emotions overwhelming him, to stop himself from crying. He took one last look around the flat and then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone; as if he’d never been there in the first place.

* * *

* * *

**FOUR MONTHS LATER, PARIS, FRANCE**

“Votre café, monsieur Crowley.” The barista smiled, handing Crowley a cup.

Crowley returned the smile. “Merci. Avez-vous une de ces petites pâtisseries aujourd'hui?”

The barista shook her head. “Je suis désolé, ce n'est pas le cas, le chef n'est pas ici aujourd'hui. J'espère vous revoir bientôt!”

“Au revoir.” 1

Crowley headed out of the small café and began his walk back towards his flat. It was a warm early evening and the air smelt of flowers, the sort of evening that encouraged romantic walks and young lovers embracing in the street. He drank his coffee as he walked, watching the people milling around. A drunk man staggered out of an alley and almost bumped in to him, waving him off with a cheerful “Oops! Sorry mate, didn’t see ya!” Crowley told him not to worry. It was tourist season, so there were more people around than usual. But that didn’t stop him from subtly flexing his fingers, causing the man to trip over his laces further down the road. Crowley supressed a smile and carried on. It was a relief to see his building and Crowley quickened his pace, only slowing when he was safely inside the foyer. His neighbour emerged from her flat and waved at him.

“Bonsoir!”

“Bonsoir Florence.” 2

Crowley replied, smiling and returning the wave. He unlocked his front door and went inside. As the door closed behind him, the mask slipped. Crowley sagged against the door, closing his eyes, the smile disappearing in an instant.

He was trying. He really, really was. But it didn’t get any easier, missing his old life, missing Aziraphale. He wondered what the angel was up to. How long it had taken him to realise Crowley had left, and whether he even cared. Crowley took another mouthful of coffee, then grimaced and threw the cup. He’d have to clean up the coffee stain, but right now that wasn’t important.

He needed to sleep.

Yes. That was the best idea he’d had in a long time.

He’d throw up a small demonic miracle so nobody would notice he never left his flat and just _sleep_. His record was 103 years but he bet he could beat that, the way he felt right now he could probably sleep until the next Armageddon, whenever the heaven that would be. It was just so exhausting, trying to be human, trying to fit in. The first few weeks or so he’d been here, Crowley had stayed in his flat. And then Florence had knocked on his door, and Crowley hadn’t had the strength to send her away. He’d wanted _company_. He knew she found him attractive but he’d never been interested in that sort of thing with humans, they lived such short lives and were so dense in the grand scheme of things. But, Crowley had to admit he enjoyed talking to her. And besides, it was far easier to hide in a crowd, it made sense to become a part of things. And so gradually, he’d made his way out in to the world, became a part of society, a part of the community. They knew his name in the local businesses, people said hello to him, it was…

…intolerable.

Crowley felt trapped. Claustrophobic. He’d always enjoyed being around humans, but not all the time, not like this. He hated almost every second of it. He craved long nights spent in a quiet back room with an angel, both completely comfortable not even having to speak. There was a tap at the door and Crowley pulled a face. He wasn’t in the mood to speak to Florence right now.

“Allez-vous en!”3 He called. He waited a few seconds and heard only silence. _Good_. It’s possible he’d hurt her feelings, but Crowley found it very hard to care. He was tired. So, so tired. He walked over to the large window, looking out over the small portion of the city available to him. Then his eyes drifted upwards, focusing on the stars. They were still so beautiful. There was another knock at the door, but Crowley ignored it. When he next woke, everything would be different, society would have moved on, but the stars would remain the same. That comforted him. No matter what else changed, the stars would always be there, his indelible mark on the universe. With a snap of his fingers he was wearing black silk pyjamas. Was Aziraphale out there, somewhere, watching those stars? Assuming he was still in London, it was possible (he wouldn’t be seeing the same stars, of course, but Crowley didn’t care for semantics.) “G'night.” He murmured, to the stars and to Aziraphale (wherever he was). He headed towards his bedroom when there was a third knock at the door. Crowley clenched and unclenched his fists. Could she not leave him alone?

“Florence, allez-vous partir, je suis fatiguée et je compte dormir au moins ... au…moins ...”4 he flung the door open and trailed off, mouth falling open in surprise.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale stood there in the doorway, wringing his hands anxiously. At Crowley’s glance towards the movement, he stopped and folded his hands behind his back before clearing his throat. “I think we should talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long time since I studied French, so those parts were done with an online translator so I can’t speak for their accuracy! But here’s the English:
> 
>   1. “ Your coffee, Mr Crowley.” The barista smiled, handing Crowley a cup.
> 
> Crowley returned the smile. “Thank you. Have you got any of those little pastries today?”
> 
> The barista shook her head. “Oh, I’m sorry, we don’t. The chef is not here today. Hope to see you again soon!” 
> 
> “Bye.” [ 1 ]
> 
>   

>   2. "Good evening!"
> 
> "Good evening Florence." [ 2 ]
> 
>   

>   3. ”Go away!” [ 3 ]  

>   

>   4. “Florence, will you give it a rest, I’m tired and I intend to sleep for at least…at…least…”  
[ 4 ]  



	14. Chapter 14

Crowley stared at him, blinking stupidly. Aziraphale was here. At his front door. Panic flared inside him and Crowley was struck by the sudden, insane urge to just slam the door in Aziraphale’s face and go and hide somewhere small and dark for as long as he could get away with.

“Can I come in?” Aziraphale asked, glancing meaningfully towards Florence’s front door.

“Um…” Crowley shook his head to clear it. His hand twitched on the door, closing it a fraction before he caught himself. _What the heaven am I doing?_ “Sorry. Yes. Of course. Um…” he stepped to one side and gestured into the flat. Aziraphale offered him a weak smile and squeezed past him. Crowley shut the door and continued to stare at the angel, who was looking distinctly more uncomfortable by the second. Crowley knew he should do something, say something, but he was completely lost in an ocean of painful uncertainty. He’d let Aziraphale go, made the decision to step back, he’d been about to sleep for at least a century for crying out loud. And now Aziraphale was here…Crowley couldn’t _completely_ rule out that the angel had come to discorporate him, of course, but something told him that wasn’t the case. The little voice, the one that had whispered in his ear on the wall of the Garden of Eden all those millennia ago. The one that told him Aziraphale was, despite their inherent natures, not a threat.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well this is-”

“Can I get you a drink or anything?” Crowley interrupted, instantly cringing at how loud his voice sounded. Aziraphale blinked.

“No. Thank you.” He shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Perhaps we might sit down?”

“Of…of course.” Crowley gestured towards the lounge, following behind Aziraphale. The angel took a seat on the sofa and Crowley hesitated, not sure if he should sit beside him or not. He settled for perching on the arm of the sofa at the end furthest from Aziraphale. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but it felt safe. They sat there in silence for several long minutes. Crowley watched Aziraphale surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye, waiting for him to speak. _Or should I speak first? Is he waiting for me?_ “What did-”

“I should-” Aziraphale said at the same time. They both paused, watching each other. Crowley gestured for Aziraphale to go first. The angel took a breath. “First of all, I need to apologise.”

Well that was unexpected. “What?”

“For my behaviour when we…well. The last time we saw each other. It was…unbecoming of me.” He cleared his throat.

“Aziraphale you don’t need to apologise to me.”

“No, no. I do. I went too far.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “This is…difficult for me.”

“I know.”

“No you _don’t_.” Aziraphale snapped. He bit his lip, turning away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Why did you come here?”

“Like I said. I want to talk.” He looked back at Crowley. “You’ve been saying you want to explain…I want to hear it.”

Crowley blinked, suddenly at a loss for how to start. He had so many things he wanted to say, _needed_ to say, that he had no idea where to begin with it all. “I made the stars, did you know that?” Crowley blurted out. Aziraphale looked confused, but didn’t interrupt. Crowley looked down at his hands. “I helped to shape the most beautiful things in creation. I was _good_. I was _loved_ \- I mean, I think I was loved. I don’t actually remember - but when push came to shove I was cast aside like a broken toy, thrown down into the pits of Hell just for asking _why_. I may not have been the best angel but I didn’t deserve that.” He sighed, looking up at Aziraphale. “When I got to Eden…my word, Aziraphale, it was so beautiful.”

“I remember.” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley shook his head.

“I’d been in the dark for so long, I’d forgotten beauty like that could even exist.” He looked back at his hands. “And in the middle of it all…there you were. An angel, so unlike the others. You felt different. Safe. You were the first being to show me actual kindness since my Fall.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “So, what, you thought ‘oh, he’s a nice fellow, better bring him down to hell so I can see him more often’?”

Crowley snorted bitterly. “No.” he said shortly. “I thought how easy it might be to push you over the edge. I thought about how, when I got you to Fall, I would make a name for myself. Bring myself out of the dark and the dirt. There you were, a _principality_, given one of the most important tasks in an Age…and you failed. You defied God, failed in your task of protecting the humans, and…and She did _nothing_. You got away with it. I convinced myself you deserved to Fall. That what you had done was so much worse than what I’d done, that I was correcting some cosmic imbalance by bringing you down, and if I benefited from it then all the better.” He took a breath, and continued. “Truthfully, it didn’t make a difference whether I liked you or not. You were a tool to get me what I wanted.” Aziraphale swallowed heavily. He seemed unable to look at Crowley, but Crowley could read the hurt running through him as clearly as if it were written on his skin.

“Maybe I will take that drink, after all.” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley cringed.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, no. I want to hear it. I _need_ to hear it.” They sat in silence for a long moment. “How did I not see this?” Aziraphale said softly, almost to himself. “You’re a demon, and I…_stupid_…”

“No. Don’t do that. Please.” Crowley grasped his own hand in order to stop himself reaching for Aziraphale. “Don’t put this on you. I’m the original tempter, remember? I manipulate people. I’m good at what I do.” He smiled ruefully.

“I’m an angel, Crowley. A good angel is supposed to be above temptation, above manipulation.”

“Why? Who says? Who decides whether you’re a ‘good’ or a ‘bad’ angel? I mean, do you think Gabriel is a good angel? After what he did?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Sandalphon? Michael?”

“Crowley, that isn’t the point-”

“It _is_ the point. You…you sheltered me from the rain for hell’s sake. You did what was right, not what the rules _said_ was right, and I took advantage of that and that is _not your fault_. You are a better angel than _any_ of them.” There was a long beat of silence following this. Aziraphale swallowed audibly.

“Erm…thank you.” He said, going rather pink. He cleared his throat. “But anyway, that _isn’t_ the point. You are a demon, and you did something demonic. You can’t deny I should have seen it coming. Anyway, I interrupted you. Continue, please.” He gestured for Crowley to continue. Crowley stared at him, frowning thoughtfully.

“Why?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why do you want to hear it? Why now?”

Aziraphale looked away. “Are you going to explain things to me or not?”

_Let it go, Crowley. Give him what he wants_. Crowley felt like he was teetering on the edge of a precipice. One wrong word could send him tumbling into the abyss, whilst the right words…well, the right words could save him. He just had to be careful.

_But what about what I want?_

“Yes. I am. I just want to know why you’re asking. Now. After months. After I did exactly what you asked and left you alone. Why. Now?”

Aziraphale let out a huff of breath through his nose. “Perhaps I should go.”

“No, hold on, just…no. Please.” Crowley reached out a hand to grab him but stopped himself, gripping a sofa cushion instead. “Look, I know I can’t do this, I have no right to be upset. I know that. But whether you believe me or not, I’m hurting too – and that is _not_ on you,” he continued hurriedly, “I’m not saying that’s on you, it is _entirely_ my own fault. I get that. But. I am not about to sit here and rub salt into my wounds if this is just another way for you to…to… to hurt yourself, or, or make some sort of point.” As soon as he said it, Crowley regretted it. He should have let it drop, should have just kept talking about what had happened, gone for damage control.

Aziraphale looked at him. “Crowley-”

“Look, forget it.” He said quickly.

Aziraphale gave a small shake of his head. “No, no. You’re…you’re right. I can’t turn up out of the blue and expect you to just…” he broke off. “I need to make sense of things. I noticed…well.” He hesitated. “There are things I don’t understand. Things I _need_ to understand.”

Crowley started biting nervously on one thumbnail before he caught himself and lowered his hand. “Ok. Ok. So what do you-”

“I mean, It’s not as if I trusted you from the start.” Aziraphale continued, as if Crowley hadn’t said anything. Crowley snapped his mouth shut. If Aziraphale wanted to talk, then Crowley was going to listen. “You were always The Enemy. Even with all the…socialising. But you kept appearing, and after a while I began to _see_ you, or so I thought.” His eyes became distant, and Crowley wondered what he was remembering. “I thought you were like me. Lost. Unsure.” He blinked, and the faraway look in his eye vanished as he seemed to come back to himself, and his voice took on a bitter quality. “You told me exactly what I wanted to hear and I fell for it. I started to trust you, started to consider you a _friend_,” he spat the word like a curse, “I know I should have been more guarded but I never thought...you made me feel at ease. Wormed your way in. So I relaxed, and then when I realised things had changed, well…I suppose I got a little carried away.”

“What changed?” Crowley asked curiously.

Aziraphale shot him a dark look. “Don’t play stupid, Crowley.”

“I’m not!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Fine. What changed? I saw you.” He took a shaky breath. “Must have been, oh, about 1785? Tuscany. There was a delivery of furs being made to one of the wealthier men in the area – complete bastard if I remember rightly – and you stole it. Brazen as anything, just walked over, waved your hand and the whole lot vanished. I didn’t think you knew I was there. Although in hindsight…” he finished darkly. Crowley frowned. He vaguely remembered this, but he was sure he hadn’t seen Aziraphale. “I didn’t approach you,” Aziraphale continued, “I was going to; I was fully prepared to thwart you, force you to return the goods…and then you walked right up to a homeless woman and handed her one of the coats.” He swallowed. “And then I just…_knew_. I loved you. Completely.”

Crowley blinked. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t that. “…oh.” He said softly. Aziraphale looked at him sharply. “What?” Crowley asked.

“‘Oh’? What do you mean, ‘oh’? What does that even mean, ‘_oh’_?”

Crowley wasn’t sure what the right answer was, wasn’t sure what Aziraphale wanted him to say.

“Well, I. I don’t really know what to do with that information. I mean, there have been times I hoped…and I…I…I wondered…after we kissed, if maybe you felt that way…? But I didn’t…I mean, I’ll be honest, this isn’t exactly the situation I wanted when I imagined you saying that to me and I don’t exactly…why are you staring at me like that?” Aziraphale was watching him warily, as if Crowley had suddenly grown another head. It made him nervous. At Crowley’s question, his head jerked and he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before shaking his head.

Crowley gave a slow blink as a puzzle piece he hadn’t even been aware was missing from the jigsaw slotted into place.

“Aziraphale…” he began slowly, “you know that was never my intention? I never tried to make you love me, that…wasn’t…that was…_never_ a part of the plan. Using love to make you Fall is just…no.” It was abhorrent. _Surely he knows that?_ Aziraphale stayed silent. “Even if you don’t believe a single other word I say, please at least believe that.”

For a long moment, Aziraphale just stared at his hands. The atmosphere was tense, and Crowley found himself suddenly very aware that he was wearing his pyjamas. He wondered if Aziraphale would notice if he changed back. He was about to do so, when Aziraphale finally spoke. “I…see.” He coughed lightly. “Well. Anyway. There we are. It happened. Honestly it happened long before that moment, I was just denying it, I suppose.”

“I honestly didn’t know you were there.” Crowley insisted quietly. _He loved me. He actually loved me. _“I thought you were in London until I heard you were in the Bastille-” he broke off sharply. This was getting into dangerous territory. “What, er, what don’t you understand?” he asked in a small voice, hoping to get the conversation back somewhere safer. Somewhere he had a vague idea of what to say.

“The Bastille.” Aziraphale echoed awkwardly, seemingly ignoring Crowley’s attempt to steer things away. “Yes. That’s, um…that’s…sort of why I’m here, actually.” Crowley stared at him. Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, picking at a non-existent thread on his trousers.

“Ok…?” he prompted, when Aziraphale didn’t say anything else. The angel closed his eyes.

“I mean, I suppose I wanted to…I mean, I need to…” he paused. “You took everything from me.” He said suddenly. Crowley winced.

“I know.”

“You can’t possibly imagine how it felt, seeing that file, seeing it all written down.” He shook his head. “Everything I thought we had just…gone. In an instant. And you looked so _hurt_ by it. And I just thought, ‘why is he hurt? Why is _he_ upset about this?’ and the only thing that made sense was that you were still manipulating me. Still trying to score points with Downstairs-”

“That’s not it, Aziraphale-”

“Please let me finish. I thought if I just ignored you, you’d realise you’d lost and you’d go away. But you didn’t. You kept on, and _on_, and I wanted so badly to believe you.” He kept picking at his trousers. “And then you told me about Gabriel and I suppose I just lost it.” He paused, collecting himself. “I knew it was wrong. When I kissed you. I did know that. I suppose I just wanted to prove to myself that I had some control over things, even if it was only over what happened with you. And you wouldn’t even let me have that.” He gave a hollow laugh, and looked over at Crowley abruptly, catching him off-guard. “Do you know what really happened in Paris? After you rescued me?” Crowley shook his head slowly. “I made a choice. I chose _you_. I was ready to turn my back on Heaven. No more sneaking around, no more secret meetings, no more Arrangement. You were the person I loved, and I was ok with that. I chose you, and everything that went with that."

“Aziraphale-" Crowley croaked, but Aziraphale ignored him.

“And that night, you spoke about it like it was…like it was _cheap_, like it would have just been _sex_, some tawdry thrill and I…well. But you looked so _broken_. I couldn’t take it.” he tipped his head to one side, watching Crowley carefully. “I went home and I read that file again, and again, and again. I needed to remind myself of what you’d done. Remind myself why you weren’t really upset, why I should hate you, why I couldn’t trust anything you said or did. That you were manipulating me. Using me. That you didn’t actually care about me. And it was working.” Crowley closed his eyes as his heart gave a painful jolt. “Until I noticed something I hadn’t before.”

Crowley looked up sharply to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. “Uh?”

“Paris. 1793. You were never there.”

Crowley blinked. “But…I…definitely was, though. What? What’s happening?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You weren’t. There was your commendation, of course - seemingly it didn’t escape their notice I got caught up in the whole thing and I suppose they wanted me to know it was you who started the whole messy business. But as for rescuing me? And…what happened afterwards? No report. No note. Not even a scrawled message on a scrap of paper. Nothing.”

Crowley gaped at him. _Nothing? But I did send a report. I know I did_. He could remember mentally writing it as he approached the cell, remembered plotting how he would amend it after Aziraphale sent the guard to his inevitable death. He’d definitely written a report on it and _no I didn’t_. Crowley’s eyes widened. _Oh_. He’d been _planning_ to write a report; planning to write it as soon as he returned to London. But then Aziraphale had invited him to stay and everything had been turned upside down. He’d been hit with all those _feelings_. He’d realised he didn’t want Aziraphale to Fall. He’d gone to sleep. _And he’d never written the report_. He belatedly realised Aziraphale was still talking and looked back at him.

“…should have been your crowning victory, something for you to shout from the rooftops for all of Hell to hear – you’d successfully seduced your project, you’d got me to the point where I was willing to Fall.” He fiddled with the ring on his little finger. “But it wasn’t mentioned, not even fleetingly. I checked. Quite a few times, actually. Went through all the cross references and everything. So I started again from the beginning. And I started noticing other things, other moments that weren’t mentioned, or didn’t happen how the reports said they did.” He looked up at Crowley. “I was so busy reading about the things you said that I didn’t even realise there were things you _weren’t_ saying. Turns out there was quite a lot. And I didn’t understand. I still don’t. So I went round to your flat to see you, but you weren’t there. Hadn’t been there for a while, it seemed. Took me a day or so, but I found you here.” He smiled. “You still aren’t very good at hiding.”

“I didn’t think you would be trying to find me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were locked on his. Crowley couldn’t look away. “I need to know why, Crowley. Why you left things out. Why you lied to them.”

“I had to protect you.”

“_Why_?”

And then Crowley realised that, in spite of everything, in spite of Aziraphale’s willingness to talk, and his confession, and Crowley’s own overwhelming need to make Aziraphale see reason, he still _hadn’t said it._

“Because I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know! I feel bad leaving it there, but the chapter was getting pretty long and I thought it would work better with a break rather than making you wait longer for any updates...I won't leave you long before the rest of the conversation!


	15. Chapter 15

A heavy silence followed Crowley’s statement. Aziraphale blinked once. Twice. Then he abruptly stood and paced away. Crowley startled and half stood from his perch on the sofa but Aziraphale made no move to go anywhere, merely walked over to the window and stared out into the evening.

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale held up a hand, not turning around. “Just…give me a minute.”

Crowley nodded, even though he knew the angel couldn’t see him. This…didn’t seem good. He hadn’t exactly been expecting Aziraphale to fall into his arms after his declaration, not after everything, but some indication of happiness would have been nice. He’d said he loved Crowley. Didn’t he?

_Loved. Not love. Past tense._

Crowley’s heart sank. Could that be it? Had his betrayal been so utterly damaging that Aziraphale actually didn’t care about him anymore? _Please don’t let that be true. Please don’t let this all have been for nothing. Don’t let me lose him anyway_. No response. Of course.

“Are you ok?” Crowley said eventually. The silence was getting to him.

Aziraphale scoffed, still not turning around. “You don’t love me.” He said in a shaky voice. “I don’t believe you. You _don’t_ love me. You can’t.”

“Why, because I’m a demon?”

“No, because if you loved me you’d have told me the truth a long time ago and we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Crowley snorted before he could stop himself. “Oh right.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, but…” Crowley stared at the back of Aziraphale’s head for a moment. “Yes, I should have told you.” he admitted. “Ever since I stopped trying to make you Fall. I told myself I was doing the right thing by not telling you. That I was doing it for you. I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t want you upset.” Aziraphale glanced over at him, and Crowley took that as encouragement to keep going. “But the truth is that I was terrified. Because I knew _this_ would happen, exactly what’s happening now. I didn’t even know I _could_ love before you, and the thought of losing you was more than I knew what to do with. And ok, maybe we wouldn’t be exactly where we are now, maybe we’d have talked properly and things wouldn’t be so…charged, but please don’t try and pretend like everything would have been ok, or suggest that I’m lying about this because of my choices. They were the wrong ones but I made them _because_ I love you. Not because I don’t.”

“Alright.” Aziraphale said slowly. “You make a good point. Ok then, how long?” He folded his hands awkwardly. “_If_ you love me – for how long? When are you suggesting you stopped trying to make me Fall?”

Crowley looked away. “Well that’s…erm…two different questions really. I realised I loved you in Paris when you invited me to stay the night.” He saw Aziraphale give a little jolt of surprise out of the corner of his eye. “And I was…horrified.” He screwed up his face in disgust. “I wasn’t _in love_, I couldn’t be _in love_. The idea was ridiculous. So I tried to sleep it off, and when that didn’t work I decided that I just needed you gone. I needed to, to push harder. Once you Fell it would be ok again.” He looked back at Aziraphale and saw he was watching him with open confusion. He scoffed incredulously. “What, you think I wanted this? You think I _wanted_ to fall in love with you, an angel, whose destruction was going to save me? No. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to love you. I wanted you out of my life. I had a plan, a good one, but you just…” he mimed scrunching up a piece of paper with one hand, “every time I saw you. I couldn’t go through with it. I kept _backing down_. And then the bomb fell.”

“The books.” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley nodded.

“That split second decision I made to save those books finally got it through to me that I was Done. I was never going to let them have you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened slightly in realisation. “Oh. I was the debt?”

Crowley frowned. “Eh? Debt? What debt?”

“When you asked for my help with the whole…Apocalypse…situation. You said you left because you owed hell a debt. Me?”

“Ah. Well, yeah, of course. I’m not a complete idiot, I wasn’t going to _tell_ Beelzebub I’d switched sides and wasn’t making you Fall anymore. They’d have slaughtered me. I just figured I’d hide from everyone and hope they forgot about it. Didn’t exactly work.”

“No, not exactly.” Aziraphale said drily.

“Hey, I tried my best, ok? And then I just thought, you know, we’d have enough to focus on without having to dodge Hell trying to kill us. So I carried on pretending. Probably the wrong decision, in hindsight. And I am sorry for that on top of everything else. But look at this from my point of view. Please. Just for a second?” Aziraphale made a ‘please carry on’ gesture and Crowley nodded gratefully. “I’d spent 6000 years promising Beelzebub an angel. That got me certain…shall we say privileges. Once they found out the truth things were going to get very nasty.”

“I could have helped you.”

“Really?” Crowley put on a whiney tone of voice, “‘Hey, Aziraphale, we’ve not spoken in a while, you don’t trust me at all anymore and you think I’m using you to get stuff but, you know what, that’s not true at all. In fact I’ve actually been manipulating you almost our entire relationship because I wanted you to Fall. It’s all good, though, I’m in love with you so I’m not doing that anymore but - quick favour, if you don’t mind - Hell’s going to kill me for betraying them. Help me out?’ I’m sure that would have gone down wonderfully.”

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched. “Well you could have phrased it better.”

“Will you come and sit down, please?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale hesitated, then walked back over and sat awkwardly on the sofa again. Crowley let out a breath. “Thank you. Look, Aziraphale, I…” _what would happen if I sat next to him? Would he run?_ Crowley decided to take the chance, sliding off the arm of the sofa so he was sat on it properly. Aziraphale looked at him expectantly. Crowley licked his lips. “Can I…?” he reached out his hands towards Aziraphale’s, moving slowly enough to give the angel plenty of time to move away, or stop him, but Aziraphale didn’t. Crowley took the angel’s hand in his and squeezed gently. Aziraphale’s skin was warmer than he’d been expecting and it was enough to make him lose focus for a moment. “Please.” He whispered, “You must know I’m not lying to you. You must know how much I love you,” his eyes flicked between Aziraphale’s, “surely you can feel it?”

Aziraphale slowly shook his head. “I can’t feel anything from you, Crowley.” He smiled sadly and withdrew his hand. “I never could. All I’ve ever had to go on has been the way you’ve acted or the things you’ve said. All those things you lied about. How can I trust you?”

Crowley slumped in defeat. Aziraphale was right, of course. The fact that the angel had never been able to sense emotion from him was a blow (not an entirely unexpected one, but he’d had a small seed of hope that maybe Aziraphale had just been too polite to try) and Crowley wasn’t sure how to recover from it. He’d earnt Aziraphale’s trust in the past, sure, but that had been with lies and deception. “You can’t” he admitted. Aziraphale closed his eyes and turned his head away. Crowley laid a hand on the side of his face and gently turned his face back towards him. He kept his hand against Aziraphale’s cheek. “I’ve given you no reason at all to trust me, but…let me try and earn it? Aziraphale, _you know me_. Even if, right now, you think you don’t. Look, if you hadn’t been sent that file, if you didn’t know what I’d done, would you think that I was lying to you right now?”

“No.” Aziraphale said automatically.

Crowley nodded. “Exactly. You trusted me completely. Just give me a chance to earn that back. That’s all I’m asking. One chance. To show you that I really have changed, that I can be the man you loved. Please, Aziraphale. I am begging you. And you know how much I hate to beg.”

“And if I say no?”

Crowley’s heart clenched painfully. _You can’t say no. I won’t survive it. When you came here you broke the last few threads holding me together; the only thing keeping me in one piece now is you. If you say no, I will unravel. I will be gone._ “If you say no, then I walk away. Just like you asked. You won’t see me again unless you come looking.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were fixed on Crowley’s. Slowly, the angel reached up a hand and carefully gripped Crowley’s wrist, as if to pull the demon’s hand from his face. But he didn’t. He sat there, holding him loosely, seemingly lost in thought.

“I want to believe you.” He said eventually, and he lowered Crowley’s hand, still keeping a loose hold on his wrist. “But Crowley-”

“I know. Believe me, I know. But I swear I will do whatever it takes. You want me to, I don’t know…” he cast around for something to say, “never leave my flat? Fine. You want me to…to live in the bookshop so you can keep tabs on me? Done. You want me to…um…wear a whacking great GPS...tracking...thingy? No problem.”

Aziraphale smiled, seemingly in spite of himself. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It won’t be.” _Please try. Please. I need you. _

Aziraphale gazed down at Crowley’s hand, which he was still holding in his lap. He ran his thumb carefully over where a pulse would be on a human wrist. Then he looked up and met Crowley’s gaze.

“Ok.”

Crowley blinked. “Sorry…ok? As in…?”

“As in…ok. I’ll give you a chance. I swear to anyone who cares to listen though, Crowley, if you are lying to me…”

“I’m not. I promise you.”

“Ok then.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped shut almost against his own volition as emotion threatened to overwhelm him. He lifted Aziraphale’s hand and pressed it to his mouth. _It isn’t too late. I haven’t lost him. Oh thank Anybody. He’s still here. He’s **still here**_. Only when he realised that Aziraphale was gently tugging at his hand did he realise that was possibly a step too far and hurriedly let go. Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap and gave Crowley a slightly pained smile, but didn’t comment. An uncomfortable silence fell. Crowley wasn’t exactly sure what to do now. If this were a film, this would have ended either with a kiss and declarations of undying love, or with Aziraphale leaving never to be heard from again. This being Crowley’s reality, neither of those things had happened. They were just in this slightly awkward no-man’s-land, and Crowley wasn’t sure where the lines were drawn.

“Should I…come back to London?” he asked eventually. Aziraphale considered this.

“Oh. Well, I mean…you have a life here, don’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“And we can still see each other, not too much trouble to hop across the channel. Not like anyone’s counting the frivolous miracles anymore. And the food here is still rather-”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley interrupted firmly. Aziraphale fell silent. “_Can_ I come back to London?”

“Oh. Um. Yes. Yes, I…would like that. I think. Yes.”

“Good.” Crowley smiled. He could feel the awkward silence threatening to creep back in. “Do you want a…cup of tea…?”

“That does sound…” Aziraphale looked at him, and finally seemed to take note of what Crowley was wearing. “Oh! You were off to bed. I should get going, then, let you sleep-”

“Nah. I won’t bother now. Not worth it.” Crowley sniffed in what he hoped was a rather unaffected way. Aziraphale looked at him sharply, and Crowley knew the angel had worked out exactly what Crowley had been about to do. _Drop it. Please. Let’s just have this_.

“Not worth it. No, I…I suppose not. Erm. A cup of tea sounds lovely. But perhaps…” Crowley, who had stood to walk over to the kitchen, halted and looked back. Aziraphale smiled softly. “Perhaps…back at the shop? England. Proper tea bags, you know.”

Crowley grinned. “I have _missed_ a good cup of tea.”

And in the blink of an eye, they were back in the shop. Crowley wasn’t sure which one of them had transported them – perhaps it had been a joint effort – but he knew straight away something was wrong. He collapsed to his knees with a shout as pain suddenly exploded through his whole body. He vaguely heard Aziraphale talking urgently but he couldn’t hear the words. After a few seconds, the pain subsided and he sat shaking on the floor. He gradually realised Aziraphale was gripping his shoulders and almost shouting at him.

“Crowley? _Crowley_? Are you alright?!”

“Tickety boo.” He said weakly. Aziraphale sagged in relief. “What the fuck happened?”

“The wards.” Aziraphale explained sheepishly. “I didn’t think. They were all still active.”

“So you almost killed me?”

“Not intentionally, if that helps.”

Crowley fought down lingering nausea. He could still feel the ghost of the pain tingling through him. “Yeah, I suppose that’s alright then. You making tea?”

“Yes. Of course. You…make yourself comfortable.” Aziraphale seemed reluctant to let go of Crowley, but he did, allowing the demon to stand up and stretch. Crowley made his way over to the sofa and collapsed onto it, pretending he didn’t feel Aziraphale watching him. He smiled softly to himself as a feeling of _home_ settled over him. But this wasn’t home. Not yet. But he was here, and Aziraphale was making him tea, and that was so much more than he had anticipated. All he had to do now was be himself and everything would be ok.

If only that were as easy as it sounded.


	16. Chapter 16

Aziraphale was talking to a customer. Again.

Crowley tried very hard not to take it personally, but it didn’t escape his notice that since he’d been around the shop again – 4 days so far, Aziraphale had insisted (“I have to keep an eye on you, Crowley, who knows if there might be any side effects from such intense exposure to ethereal protective energies.”) – A.Z. Fell had become far more customer orientated and had been open far more regularly than usual.

But that was ok.

So what if Aziraphale was hesitant to spend too much time alone with him? That didn’t take away from the fact that he had asked Crowley here, had welcomed Crowley back into his life. It didn’t take away from the moments they _did_ have, the dinners in, the cups of tea drank together (that was another thing Crowley couldn’t help noticing – normally Aziraphale would bring out some fancy bottle of wine or expensive whiskey at the drop of a hat, but it seemed alcohol was strictly Off Limits in their current situation). Less than a week ago he’d been utterly certain Aziraphale would never want to see him again and now they were under the same roof. Crowley couldn’t blame him for being uncomfortable.

Even if it kind of hurt.

Crowley just wished he knew what the rules were. Aziraphale had made no mention of Crowley going back to his own flat, and Crowley had no idea if that was because Aziraphale still wanted to keep an eye on his health, or whether he was expecting Crowley to stay in the bookshop, or whether he was waiting for Crowley to go but was too polite to actually tell him to leave now that they were getting on again. Crowley really hoped that wasn’t it. Surely it couldn’t be – he was here because Aziraphale had _asked_ after all. Crowley only realised he’d been staring at Aziraphale, lost in thought, when the angel met his gaze over the customer’s shoulder and raised both his eyebrows. Crowley mimicked him in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment before looking away. It wasn’t the first time either one of them had been caught staring over the past few days, but every time Crowley met those perfect blue eyes his stomach swooped as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. It was an unsettling feeling. He wondered if Aziraphale felt that, or whether it was some sort of guilt over everything. He pretended not to watch as Aziraphale finished up with the customer – or, rather, shooed the poor man out without the book they’d been discussing for the past half an hour. Aziraphale stood beside the closed door for several moments, unmoving.

“I’ve been thinking.” Crowley said. Aziraphale jumped and span around to look at him.

“Oh?”

“I might go back to my flat. Check on the plants. You know.” Not that he had to. The plants would still be alive if they knew what was good for them.

“Your flat.” Aziraphale frowned.

“Yes? I mean, you’re welcome to come with me if you like.”

“I…no. No, that won’t be necessary. I mean…erm…” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I’m sure you can manage. Will you come back here?”

“Do you want me to?”

Aziraphale gave him a ‘deer in the headlights’ look. “Oh! I mean…”

Crowley took pity on him. “Aziraphale.” He said softly. “You want to keep an eye on me. I get it. It’s fine. But we both know having me here is making you uncomfortable. Maybe I should stay at mine, at least for tonight?” _Say no. Say you want me here. Ask me to stay. Please._

“You’re right.” _I hate being right_. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Yes, perhaps it would be best if I had a little space. This wasn’t exactly what I had planned…”

“Yeah, well, shouldn’t have tried to kill me then, should you?” Crowley said breezily, covering up his hurt. Aziraphale smiled.

“True.”

“I’ll come round for lunch tomorrow? Perhaps we could go out?” _Please?_

“That sounds…yes. Lunch.”

Crowley nodded. “Lunch.” _Change your mind. Ask me to stay._

_I miss us._

Aziraphale opened his mouth as if to say something else, then seemed to think better of it. Crowley gave him a small smile then quickly left before he said anything that might embarrass them both. The Bentley was in his garage, of course, but he didn’t much fancy a taxi or an Uber, better to walk. Or…he cast a quick glance around. No one watching. With a thought, any security cameras pointed his way simultaneously glitched and stopped recording. With a soft _whumph_ Crowley spread his wings and took off into the sky. Crowley climbed as high as he dared (it didn’t do to risk getting into any flight paths and potentially coming face to face with an aeroplane. He’d made that mistake once. Never again) and then let himself glide. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the wind in his hair, letting his tension slowly melt away. Opening his eyes, he looked down. London was beautiful from up here. _Mind you, I suppose anywhere is beautiful once you get high enough that you can’t really see anything properly._ He shook his head at himself. _Well that was a cheery thought. Idiot._ Reluctantly, he silently swooped down and landed gracefully outside his building, careful to make sure he wasn’t seen. He let himself in and pressed the button for the lift, letting it carry him up to the top floor. He hesitated outside his flat, keys in hand. He felt…oddly nervous. As though going through this door _meant_ something, although he had no idea what. _Stop being stupid_ he thought angrily, letting himself in. Crowley closed the door and leant against it. It felt oppressively quiet. It felt wrong. With a sigh, he pushed off from the door and propelled himself into the flat. As expected, the plants were flourishing (Crowley made sure to give them an extra hard glare as he checked, though. Didn’t want them thinking he’d gone soft in his time away). Walking through, he found himself in his throne room and paused, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. The last time he’d been here…

_Don’t think about that. You’re back, he’s back, everything’s fine._

Yes. Everything was fine. And he was here, alone, at Aziraphale’s request.

Crowley sighed. “Love has made you weak.” He murmured mockingly to himself. He flung himself into his chair. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he asked, casting his eyes upwards. “All of this? Any of this? Are you deliberately ignoring me, or are you just not listening?” he sighed. “Not that it matters. Not that any of it matters, really. But just in case…thank you. Thank you for bringing him back to me. Thank you for s-” he choked on the word, but continued, “s-saving me. I love him. I _love_ him.” It still felt good to say out loud, even if he knew he was more than likely just talking to himself, “And I will prove it to him. I’ll be someone he deserves.” Crowley cleared his throat, suddenly feeling foolish. “I’m going to stop talking now. I’ve been tea-total for far too long and I need a drink.” He got up and went in search of something palatable, anything to help him cope with the quiet. It had never felt this quiet in his Paris flat…Crowley felt a pang of guilt as he thought about Florence. Perhaps he shouldn’t have left so abruptly, but he’d been so caught up in having Aziraphale close again that everything else had seemed so unimportant. But in truth it wasn’t Paris he missed right now, or Florence, he knew that. It was that feeling of _home_ he’d felt briefly in the bookshop. That warm, comfortable feeling of just belonging. Snagging a bottle of scotch, he went and slumped on his sofa, taking a swig. He looked out of the window at the stars (it may have been daytime, but that didn’t stop Crowley from seeing them in all their splendour) and thought about Aziraphale. What was he up to, now? Would he be working? Enjoying the peace and quiet? Did he miss him, too? Or was it more likely he’d be sick with worry over whether Crowley was having secret meetings about him in Hell? That thought made Crowley’s stomach hurt and he took another long drink to ease the pain. He pulled out his phone and frowned at the screen, thinking hard. Then he tapped out a text message and flung the phone onto his desk.

** _I’m at home. Thinking of taking a nap. Still on for lunch tomorrow. C x_ **

Crowley sat there for a long time, slowly finishing the bottle. And another. And another. Eventually, he decided it was probably best he call it a night. He was at his bedroom door when he heard his phone chime from where he’d left it on the desk. He staggered back over and squinted drunkenly at the screen.

** _Sleep well Crowley. I’ll see you tomorrow. A_ **

And then a few seconds later, a second message. Just one letter.

** _X_ **

It was hardly a message of love or forgiveness, more of an afterthought than anything. The sort of thing you would send to an acquaintance or a distant family member. But Crowley knew Aziraphale. He knew how painstakingly the angel did every little thing. And the hope that surged through Crowley as he looked at that tiny little x on his screen was so bright he wouldn’t have been surprised if Aziraphale could feel it.

** _Goodnight Angel x_ **

** **

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

“Crowley, you’re being ridiculous.”

Crowley stopped walking. Aziraphale didn’t, and Crowley stared after him in disbelief for a few seconds before hurrying to catch up. “I’m being…_I’m_ being ridiculous?!” Crowley spluttered. “How can you even say that?!”

“Because you are. It’s a perfectly reasonable-”

“It’s not ‘reasonable’, Aziraphale. It’s moronic. I’m just saying, if you ran through an airport like that, at the very least you’d be tackled to the ground. There’d probably be firearms involved.”

“It’s romantic.”

Crowley snorted. “It’s stupid, is what it is. She shouldn’t go falling into his arms, she should be watching him dragged off by security and thanking her lucky stars she avoided such an idiot.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, fighting a smile. “Crowley, it’s a _film_. It’s _escapism_. They’re not trying to be realistic. There’s a reason it’s a cliché, because it’s enjoyable.”

“Well it shouldn’t be. Dashing after the female lead at the last minute is just _stupid_. If he’s too dense to realise the truth about their relationship in time then that should be the end of it-” Crowley stopped talking. He glanced sharply at Aziraphale but could see it was already too late, the damage had been done. Aziraphale’s smile had become fixed and tense, and Crowley could almost _feel_ the easy camaraderie evaporating, the banter drying up. He sighed. He’d said the wrong thing. Again. The evening had been going so well, too; they’d gone to the cinema to see some sci-fi film that was showing but the screening had been sold out. Rather than do something different or call it a night they’d decided to just see whatever film was showing next…which turned out to be some dreadful, gaudy rom-com that looked painfully cheesy. Crowley spent the whole film alternating between cringing at what he was watching and laughing to himself at how terrible it all was.

Aziraphale, of course, loved it.

He might be into classical music, and the works of Shakespeare, and serious poems by long dead authors. He might spend all his time amongst the classics and enjoy deep discussions about literature over expensive brandy. But Crowley knew that underneath it all the angel was just a hopeless romantic. He couldn’t get enough. Not even a good romance – although he did love those – anything romantic was guaranteed to get Aziraphale giddy, even down to the cheesiest of films. He would deny it, of course, and teasing Aziraphale over it was always a source of great joy to Crowley. It had resulted in many long conversations and fake arguments in the past. This had been the first proper one they’d had going since everything had come out and Crowley had been enjoying it.

And then he’d gone and ruined everything.

He cast around for something, to say, anything to try to distract Aziraphale, to try and get the atmosphere back. “Hey, what was that film we saw with the heiress and that bus, must have been, what, 1933, 34?”

“I…don’t recall.” Aziraphale said stiffly. Crowley swallowed down his disappointment. He’d definitely blown it, then. Crowley watched Aziraphale cautiously out of the corner of his eye as they walked. The angel was doing that ‘gazing into the distance’ thing he did when his brain was working overtime on something unpleasant. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring up something they’d done so long ago, now that Aziraphale knew what had been going on…he could almost see Aziraphale thinking about the whole thing, mulling it over, wondering if it had somehow been an attempt to get to him (it wasn’t…ok, at the time Crowley had told himself some crap about it all being part of the plan to get Aziraphale back onside and friendly but in hindsight…no. Crowley had just wanted to spend time with him.) He hated how every good memory was tainted for the angel. Before he could second guess himself, Crowley reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale stopped walking abruptly. He glanced down at their hands, before looking quickly back at Crowley’s face, eyes wide in something like alarm.

_Is that good or bad? Come on, Angel, give me something. _Crowley raised his eyebrows encouragingly and smiled. “Ok?”

“Fine.” Aziraphale said, a little too quickly. Crowley’s smile faded and he started to withdraw his hand, but Aziraphale held on. “I said it’s fine.” He said firmly. “It’s…good.”

“Good.” Crowley echoed, smiling again. “Ok then.”

They resumed walking, albeit going slightly slower than before. There was a tense silence between them, still, but Aziraphale was holding his hand and that had to be good, right? Crowley couldn’t help remembering how easy it used to be, touching Aziraphale. He remembered the angel grabbing his wrist without a second thought to get his attention or move him towards something…he looked down at their entwined hands and suddenly felt very warm. _It’s different, though. We were friends. This is more. I think. I hope. Is it more? Does he still want me like that?_ Crowley had never actually clarified Aziraphale’s feelings towards him. _He must do. I need him to._ Crowley ran his thumb gently over the back of Aziraphale’s knuckle. Aziraphale’s eyes flicked towards him for a split second and then refocused on the pavement ahead. _I love you_.

“It Happened One Night.” Aziraphale said, suddenly.

Crowley blinked. “What did?”

“The film. In 1934. ‘It Happened One Night’.” Aziraphale smiled. “We had popcorn.”

Crowley laughed. “Oh yes, I remember! That little stand outside the theatre! God, I loved that place. What was his name, the man who ran it? John? James?”

“I think it was Jimmy?”

“Yes! Jimmy. He was great, _loved_ old Jimmy.”

“I mainly remember that woman who tried to snatch the popcorn from you because you were eating too loudly.” Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley smirked. “Oh, I remember her. ‘The theatre is not the place for popping corn.’” He said mockingly. He shook his head. “I wonder what she’d think of cinemas now? Popcorn, nachos, breadsticks, people slurping on overpriced drinks…”

“You know you’ve never actually denied that cinema concessions are one of yours.”

Crowley smiled in what he hoped was a mysterious way. “I’ve never confirmed it, either.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale shook his head with a fond smile. He glanced up and Crowley realised with a jolt that they were at the bookshop. He hesitated.

“We could have a drink or something?”

Aziraphale checked his pocket watch. “Better not. I’ve got…inventory I wanted to get done. I managed to get my hands on a few new acquisitions that want looking at.”

A clear dismissal. Crowley swallowed. “Oh. Right. Ok.”

“We could…get brunch tomorrow?”

Crowley couldn’t help grinning. _Not a complete dismissal, then_. “Sounds great. I’ll stop by about 9?”

“Better make it 10. There are a couple of errands I need to run in the morning.”

“Errands? What sort of errands?”

Aziraphale blinked. “I don’t know. Errands. Shopping. Dry cleaning. Just...errands.”

“So basically a lot of things you could miracle done in about 3 seconds.”

“It’s not the _same_.”

Crowley huffed out a laugh. “Ok, ok. Fussy. I’ll see you at 10 then.” He reluctantly let go of Aziraphale’s hand. “Goodnight, Angel.”

“Goodnight, Crowley.”

Crowley turned and walked away, hearing Aziraphale enter the shop and lock the door behind him. He considered going home, but the idea of being in his empty, quiet flat didn’t feel like a good way to pass the night. Perhaps he could still go out and get a drink, enjoy the Soho nightlife? Tempting, but not really something he fancied doing alone and picking up some random human _definitely_ wasn’t on his agenda for this evening. Instead, he headed to St James’ Park. It was quiet, not many people (or ducks) and Crowley settled himself on a bench with a sigh. He could spend a couple of hours here, at least, maybe wander around London for a bit later on. Or anywhere, really, maybe head to a country where it was still daylight and things would actually be open. _Nah_. It was nice here. Peaceful. And so that was how Crowley spent the night, sat on his bench thinking about the world and watching the people that would stagger past every now and then. Eventually the stream of people began to thicken and Crowley realised it was morning commute time. He checked his watch and stood up. He’d wander around a bit and then head to the bookshop. _Maybe go home and change first_.

****

Crowley got the shop at 10 on the dot and tried the door. It was locked, but that wasn’t a problem. Crowley let himself in, locking the door again behind him to avoid any overeager customers getting the wrong idea. “Aziraphale, you ready? Angel?” Crowley waited, cocking his head as he listened for a reply. Silence. “Aziraphale?” Crowley stuck his head into the back room but there was nobody there. “Aziraphale, are you here?” No reply. Crowley frowned. It wasn’t like Aziraphale to be late. He pulled out his phone and texted Aziraphale to let him know he was waiting, then sat down feeling tense. Within seconds, there was a reply.

** _Will be there in about 15 minutes. Apologies. A x_ **

Crowley relaxed. Nothing bad had happened to the angel. That was good. It had been quite some time since Crowley had pulled his little holy water stunt in Hell and so far it had kept them off their backs, but it would be foolish to become complacent. He huffed out a breath and looked around him, taking in the homely clutter. Aziraphale had mentioned obtaining ‘a few’ new (old) books since he’d last been here, seemingly their definitions of ‘a few’ were a bit different because Crowley could see numerous titles he didn’t recognise. He could see some obviously hadn’t been looked at yet, and could just imagine the angel spending several hours excitedly reading, checking and cataloguing each one. Hopefully he had no plans to involve Crowley in that. _Who am I kidding, I’d jump at the chance. Anything that makes him happy is something I want to do. Jesus I sound pathetic. _Crowley thought about this, and then smiled. _Maybe that’s not too bad._

The bell above the door chimed suddenly and Crowley craned his head towards the noise.

“That was quick, I thought you said fifteen-” he broke off, staring. Because the angel who had just walked into the bookshop wasn’t Aziraphale.

Standing there, staring back at him in complete disbelief, was Gabriel.


	17. Chapter 17

For a long moment they stared at each other, frozen. The only sounds were the ticking of the grandfather clock and the muffled chatter of pedestrians outside. Crowley recovered first, lifting his hand in a mock salute.

“Boss man.” he glanced behind Gabriel and out the window, looking for any sign of potential backup for the Archangel but the street outside seemed to be safely angel free.

“What-” Gabriel’s eyes scanned the area quickly. “What the hell are you doing here? Where is he?”

“You sound worried.” In spite of himself, Crowley felt a grudging sense of respect. _Perhaps he really has seen the error of his ways. Perhaps he knows what he did was wrong. Perhaps-_

“You shouldn’t be here. We had a deal.”

_-perhaps he’s just an arsehole._

Crowley pulled a face. “What deal? We’ve never made any deal.”

Gabriel gave him a look so filled with disgust and loathing that Crowley wondered, not for the first time, how much difference there actually was between angels and demons. “Not you, you idiot, don’t be so…why would I debase myself? No. I’m talking about that little boss of yours – you know, the one who _actually_ calls the shots on your little operation? _We_ had a deal. You lost, sunshine. Fair and square. He’s mine. So you leave him alone.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Really.” Gabriel’s voice was dripping with disdain. “Look, we both know what’s gone on. But it’s over. Aziraphale is not your pawn anymore.”

“He’s nobody’s _pawn_.” Crowley spat. Gabriel laughed.

“Really? It’s going to be like that? Fine.” He took a menacing step closer. “Sadly for you, I’m not quite so stupid. You might have found it easy to weasel your way back in here, get yourself under his skin, but I think you’ll find-“

“Easy?” Crowley hissed. He flung himself from his chair and stalked towards Gabriel. “_Easy_?! You think this was easy, after what you did?”

“All I did was tell him. You’re the one that started this whole thing-”

“You _broke him_. You knew the entire time and you did _nothing_. And then for you to gloat about it, to say you were rooting for me, it’s just…” Crowley made a noise of disgust.

Gabriel regarded Crowley curiously for a moment. “He told you that? My, my. You really have shared.” He shrugged. “I’d have stepped in.” he said coolly after a moment. “If necessary. I must say, you took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting the whole, shall we say, emotional angle? I mean, getting him to fall in love with you was just…inspired.” He laughed, and the hairs on the back of Crowley’s neck stood on end. “How did you do it? Just out of curiosity. How did you get to him?”

Crowley growled. “Leave. Now. Before I do something-”

Gabriel laughed. “Do what, exactly? I heard about your little trip down Below…am I going to get the same treatment? You’re going to, what, throw hellfire at me?” he smirked. “Please.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this. Look. I don’t know how you wormed your way back in. Frankly, I don’t care. But it stops now. Aziraphale is mine. End of discussion. So whatever disgusting, sordid little thing you and that idiot have got going on-”

Crowley was suddenly right in Gabriel’s face, so close their noses were almost touching. “How dare you?” he hissed angrily. “You _dare_ talk about him like that? He’s better than you’ll _ever_ be.”

Gabriel cocked his head to one side. “You…cannot be serious? It sounds like you have actual feelings for him.”

“Feelingsss?” Crowley growled deep in his throat. “Do you have any idea how much work it took to drag him down? How much effort it took on my part to get him even _close_ to Falling? It took me about 6000 damned years to get him to that point, to get him right to the edge, and I could have made him Fall the whole way.”

“And yet you failed.”

“No. I didn’t. I _chose_ not to go any further. Any one of you other bastards I’d have had Falling within 100 years. Now _that_ would have been easy. But Aziraphale, he took everything I had. I have broken so many times it’s a wonder I’m still together but you know what? I would do it all again in a heartbeat. I’d drag him down and I’d shatter myself along the way because at the end of it all he chose_ me_. Not Hell. Not Heaven. Me. And that proves he is better than you will ever be, because even after all this time and even after everything he’s been put through he has the guts and the strength to see that there is more to life than the rules, that he can follow his own path and it’s not _wrong_ or _immoral_ or _evil_ or whatever other crap they still spout Up There. And if you dare try and harm that I swear to Lucifer I will tear you limb from stupid limb and I will roast your-”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s voice came sharply from somewhere to the left of him. Crowley span abruptly to see Aziraphale standing in the doorway.

“I didn’t- he began.

“Crowley. Be. Quiet.” Aziraphale hissed through gritted teeth. He looked furious. Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets and glared at the floor. Aziraphale turned to Gabriel, his expression smoothing.

“Gabriel I, ah, wasn’t expecting you.”

“Evidently.” Gabriel shot him a pitying look. “I came to see that you were alright, since we haven't heard from you. Seems like I'm just in time. The demon Crowley, Aziraphale? Really? After everything he did?”

Crowley scowled. “You jumped up little-”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped. He gave Crowley a warning look before turning back to Gabriel. The Archangel raised an eyebrow.

“…I can see perhaps I overestimated you, Aziraphale. I assumed you’d be intelligent enough to realise your place should be with heaven. Our offer of forgiveness is a one-time only deal, you know.”

“I see.” Aziraphale looked over at Crowley. “And his being here, this little…indiscretion. It wouldn’t affect that?” he turned back to Gabriel, wringing his hands.

Crowley gaped at him. Surely he couldn’t mean what it sounded like? Surely he wasn’t abandoning Crowley now, turning back to Heaven and Gabriel? _You can’t mean that. You can’t. You can’t hate me that much, not any more. Isn’t that what these past months have been about?_

“Your…feelings…for this creature may be a perversion but I understand how compelling love can be when someone is weak. So because of that…I would be prepared to let this slide.” Gabriel smirked.

“Would you now.” Aziraphale looked thoughtful. His hands stilled and he folded them behind his back. “I was wondering. Because Crowley isn’t the only one who made an…error in judgement, shall we say?”

“An error in judgement. That’s what he told you?” The smirk turned into a pitying smile.

“What he told me is none of your concern. That is between us. What _is_ your concern is that I may have been rather hasty when I agreed to return with you last time we spoke. Other facts have come to light and I just don’t think it’s the right time for me.”

“The right time? What does that even mean?” Gabriel snapped, suddenly looking a lot less amiable.

Aziraphale smiled pleasantly. “Oh I’m so sorry. Perhaps I should have been clearer. My mistake. Basically – and I do of course mean this with the greatest of respect,” his smile vanished and he glared at Gabriel, a steely glint in his eye that hadn’t been there before, “get the fuck out of my shop. If you would be so kind.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open. Aziraphale's gaze flicked to him for a fraction of a second before focusing on Gabriel again. The Archangel was staring at Aziraphale, his face slowly going an interesting shade of puce. “You…” he choked out. Aziraphale smiled politely.

“Me. I’m sure you know the way out.”

Gabriel opened and closed his mouth several times, his hands clenched into fists. He glared first at Crowley, then at Aziraphale.

“He got to you after all.” He said, his tone disgusted. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

“Nobody ‘got’ to me. I’m on my own side.”

Gabriel looked between the two of them. “I…see. Well then. This isn’t over.” he turned and left without looking back. A heavy silence fell in his wake. Crowley swallowed heavily. Aziraphale was glaring at the door in silence, and Crowley wished more than anything that he knew what Aziraphale was thinking. How much had the angel heard? Did he understand what Crowley had been trying to say? Did he understand why Crowley had even been talking to Gabriel?

“Aziraphale?” he began hesitantly. Aziraphale looked round at him, his expression unreadable. “About what I said…” he trailed off when Aziraphale shook his head. Before Crowley had time to really think about what to say next Aziraphale was striding towards him, a determined look on his face. For one wild moment Crowley thought he was about to be punched – or worse – but instead Aziraphale gripped his face and kissed him sweetly. It lasted a couple of seconds before the angel pulled back.

“Thank you.”

“Uhh…” Crowley stared, unblinking. “You’re…welcome? I’ll be honest; I thought I was going to be in trouble here.”

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched and he looked down at his feet. “Really?”

“You’re not angry?”

Aziraphale looked up at him. “You stood up for me. For _us_. No-one’s ever stood up for me before.”

“Oh.” Crowley cleared his throat. “Well. Anytime, angel. I can go after him now, if you want, say a few more things if that’s the reaction I’m going to get.”

Aziraphale laughed, and it sounded like music to Crowley’s ears. “That won’t be necessary. Thank you, my dear.”

_My dear_. Crowley beamed. “Alright then.”

“Alright then.” Aziraphale smiled at him, that gorgeous shy smile that made Crowley weak, and he acted without thinking. He leant forwards, brushing their lips together. A split second later he realised this was probably a Big Mistake.

Except…

Except Aziraphale wasn’t pulling back. He wasn’t recoiling, or freezing, or pushing Crowley away. He was just…standing there. Relaxed. Pliant. Crowley broke away slowly.

“Err…sorry.”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley’s lips. He shook his head almost imperceptibly and smiled. “Quite alright.” He took a step back and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Tea?”

“Are we not going for brunch?”

“I rather think the mood’s been ruined, don’t you?”

“In that case, tea sounds wonderful, angel.” Crowley watched Aziraphale make it in his little kitchenette. “Since we’re not going out now…dinner tonight? My treat.”

“You’re offering to take me out?”

Crowley wasn’t sure what Aziraphale’s tone meant. “Not like on a date or anything.”

“Definitely not.”

_Is he joking? I honestly have no idea_. “Ok then. Just two…friends…having dinner. Sounds good.” He accepted the mug Aziraphale handed him and sipped it appreciatively. “Any food preference?”

“I’ll let you decide, my dear.”

_My dear_. Twice in the space of a few minutes. Crowley couldn’t help grinning. “Ok then.”

****

Later that afternoon, Crowley was back in his flat. Today had been a good day. They’d spent most of it just in the shop, Aziraphale working on some old books whilst Crowley lolled around doing nothing and it was…perfect.

He smiled, pulling out his phone. If he was taking Aziraphale out for dinner, he should probably find somewhere for them to go. He walked over to his mini bar and poured himself out a drink, flicking through restaurant recommendations on his phone. His mind drifted back to that morning. The look on Gabriel’s face when he left the shop had been something Crowley would have dearly loved to have captured and framed so he could always give himself a good laugh.

_…“He got to you after all.”…“Nobody ‘got’ to me, I’m on my own side.”…_

Crowley chuckled to himself, scrolling down the reviews for a local Chinese restaurant. _This place looks good; I reckon he’ll love this. Have we been here before? Don’t think so. Even if we have I’m pretty sure Aziraphale won’t mind. _He booked a table online – not necessary, but Aziraphale would probably appreciate things done ‘properly’ – and quickly changed clothes with a snap of his fingers. Should he bring something? Flowers? Chocolates? No, probably not. Aziraphale had made it very clear this wasn’t a date. Hadn’t he? Better to assume he had. Crowley sauntered down to the Bentley and headed off, Queen belting out from the speakers as he drove. Before too long, he pulled up next to the shop and hopped out, flinging open the front door.

“Aziraphale?” He could hear the faint hum of music playing on the gramophone, so the angel must be here somewhere. “I booked us a table.” Crowley picked up a book and scanned the back cover. “Chinese place. New, I think. Don’t recognise it, anyway. We’d better get going if we want to use it…although we’ll get in whether we use it or not I suppose.” He put the book down and headed towards the back room. “Aziraphale? Are you still working on those books…? Oh.” He frowned. Aziraphale wasn’t sat at his desk. He picked up Aziraphale’s mug, noticing there was half a cup of cold tea in there.

**...whiskers on kittens…**

Crowley felt a strange pang of anxiety as the song playing on the gramophone suddenly caught his attention. He turned to look at it.

**…brown paper packages tied up with string, these are a few of my favourite things…**

“Is that The Sound of Music?” Crowley called incredulously. “Why are you listening to that? If you’re trying to make a point I think-” he broke off, eyes wide. The mug dropped from his hands, smashing onto the floor. Tea soaked into Crowley’s shoe, ruining the leather, but he didn’t notice.

_…make a point…make a point…”You’ve made your point, Aziraphale.”…_

_…“He got to you after all.”…“Nobody ‘got’ to me, I’m on my own side.”…_

No. That wasn’t right.

_…“He got to you after all.”…“He got to you after all.”…_

No.

_…“He got to you after all.”…“Yes. He did. But not in the way you’re implying.”…_

_No._

_...“My, my. You really have shared.”…_

“Shit.” Crowley was sprinting for the door before he’d even finished his thought. _He knows. Gabriel knows. He knows what we did._ He must do. He’d repeated that sentence on purpose, a test, and they’d completely failed. And now he’d taken Aziraphale. He’d taken him and they were going to-

_Think_.

Crowley stopped. He looked back at the gramophone. Gabriel had taken Aziraphale, yes. But he’d gone to the trouble of leaving this message for Crowley, so that he’d know exactly what had happened. Which meant in all likelihood, Aziraphale wasn’t the only target.

Gabriel wanted Crowley to follow.

That suggested Aziraphale was safe. For now. If he wanted both of them, that gave Crowley a little time. If he was going into the lion’s den, as it were, he’d need a plan. Crowley hurried over to Aziraphale’s desk and grabbed paper and a pen. He smiled grimly.

Breaking, entering, and theft (kidnapping? Daring rescue? Whatever). This was the sort of plan he was _good_ at.


	18. Chapter 18

Crowley stared up at the building in front of him, all glass and straight lines. It seemed so _ordinary_, so like the buildings around it, you wouldn’t think it was probably the most dangerous place in the universe. He walked towards the revolving door and paused, eyeing his reflection in the large glass window. He looked…wrong. He tugged nervously at the hastily miracled white suit before reluctantly removing his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket pocket. He blinked at his reflection. His eyes would give him away instantly if they were spotted, true, but if he kept his head down he should be ok. He would attract far more attention with the glasses on. Taking a deep breath, Crowley pushed the door.

_Here we are again._

Crowley wondered if it would ever _truly_ be the last time he set foot in this damned atrium. It seemed like he would never get away from the place. It felt slightly different than he was used to going _up_ though - he’d done it before, of course, but he’d been wearing Aziraphale’s body and escorted by hostile angels –riding the up escalator whilst in his own skin felt more nerve-wracking than he had imagined. He couldn’t shake the feeling of imminent danger, and it was making his useless heart pound uncomfortably. He was walking into the metaphorical lion’s den armed with nothing but his wits and his charm – such as it was. Crowley kept his eyes glued on the top of the escalator, ready to fight if anyone came into view. But nobody did.

_Think, Crowley. Where would Gabriel put him?_

It would help if he knew how far this went. Was this Gabriel acting alone, or did he have others behind him? If it was the former then he’d probably have Aziraphale tucked away somewhere, out of sight. If it was the latter, well, that might complicate things. He might be out in the open. Crowley slunk carefully along walls, trying to look in all directions at once, all his senses on high alert. There were no shadows in heaven for him to hide in and he felt horribly exposed. He hesitated at the sound of footsteps coming towards him, but they turned off somewhere to his right. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. His plan relied heavily on luck, on getting in and out without being seen (his plan B involved getting caught and was rather less pleasant. He hoped he could stick to plan A.) He turned a corner and saw a doorway at the far end of a corridor. He closed his eyes and sniffed deeply, trying to catch a whiff of Aziraphale’s cologne. He almost gagged at the smell of pure _goodness_ surrounding him but he fought through it, searching for the familiar scent.

Nothing.

Well, of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. No reason he should get a lucky break, was there? Not like he’d suffered or anything. Crowley scowled at the door as though it were it’s fault the room behind it did not contain an Aziraphale, and then moved on. He rounded a corner and immediately shrank back to avoid a pair of angels gliding past. _Shit. That was close._ Peering carefully around the corner to make sure the coast was clear, he carried on.

****

Crowley wasn’t sure how long he’d been creeping around, but he was starting to regret not spending longer coming up with a plan. The trouble was; the further he went into heaven, the busier it seemed to become. Crowley couldn’t remember seeing so many angels all milling around the office before (ok, so it had been a while since he’d been here but still. How much could really have changed in a few thousand years or so?) things were potentially more dangerous than he had anticipated. The only saving grace - so to speak - was that angels are, by nature, quite task orientated. They all seemed focused, not looking around too much, making it easier for Crowley to slip around unnoticed. He just wished it were smaller up here. Ok, so most of heaven consisted of the large, open plan office space and Crowley could easily see Aziraphale wasn’t there. But there was all number of conference rooms and cupboards and places you could easily stash an angel. Crowley observed carefully from the hallway he was currently hiding in in the hope he would notice angels congregating, or all heading in one particular direction, but no such luck.

“What are you doing?”

Crowley looked over his shoulder reflexively and found himself almost face to face with an angel. Young. Not someone he recognised. Crowley cursed himself, wondering how he had let someone sneak up on him without realising and quickly turned his head before the angel could get a proper look at him.

“Just…taking a break.” He pushed past the angel, trying to keep his pace steady and not look like he was running away. To his chagrin, he could hear footsteps following him. Crowley swiftly ducked around a corner, suddenly grateful for the rabbit warren of corridors and rooms he could hide himself in. After a number of turns he was sure he’d lost any potential follower, and started trying to retrace his steps. He was clever, he was sure he remembered how to get back to the place he had come from. Crowley turned another corner and found himself at a dead end, staring at some sort of potted plant on a table. _Oh. What is that doing there? _He blinked at it, and was about to try and find another route when a voice came from behind him.

“What’s going on?”

The angel from before. He’d managed to keep up with Crowley after all. _Game’s up then_. Crowley turned slowly on the spot. There was no recognition in the angel’s face as he stared at Crowley, and the demon quickly lowered his head to try and shield his eyes. _Perhaps I can get out of this._

“Nothing. Nothing is going on.”

“You ran from me.”

“No I didn’t.”

The angel took a step towards him, and Crowley heard the sharp gasp that told him his eyes had been spotted. He looked up quickly and the angel backed away, eyes wide.

“You’re a demon.”

Crowley winced. _Crap. Plan B it is. Sorry kid, I really didn’t want to hurt anyone._ He raised his hand, and then paused. The angel looked unsure, nervous, and he wasn’t raising the alarm. At a second look, he really was very young, barely more than a fledgling. The young tended to be easily manipulated. _So not plan A. And maybe not Plan B…Plan C? What is Plan C? I guess we’ll find out._ Crowley grinned.

“Well spotted. Erm, Lord, uh, Hastur. At your service.” He offered his hand and the angel stared at it as though it were a loaded gun. “I’m here to see…well. _You_ know. When I was told you had him here I came as soon as I could. After Gabriel brought him in.”

“Who?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. He was pretty good at spotting deception, and it seemed that the young angel was telling the truth. He had no idea Aziraphale was a prisoner there. _Time to change tack, then_.

“Are you my guide? I seem to have gotten a little…turned around. It’s been a while since I was last up here after all.” He smiled, emphasising the points on his teeth. The angel swallowed.

“I’ll alert the Archangels.” He threatened. Crowley forced himself to keep smiling.

“That would be very helpful of you.”

He saw doubt flicker in the angel’s eyes. “You…want me to call them?”

“Yes. Please do. Gabriel if you can manage it but any one of them will do, really.” He made a show of looking the angel up and down. “Surely you were told I was coming? No? I must say I’m surprised. From the look of you I’d assume you had some authority.”

The angel glared, drawing himself up to his full height. “I have as much authority as I need for my station.”

“Good to know.” Crowley shrugged. “Quite a lot of you around, aren’t there?” He gestured back the way he’d come. “Surely they’ve not got you all milling around the corridors just because of little old me?” He winked. The angel bristled.

“Hardly. One demon isn’t enough to do anything to the might of Heaven. You’re allowed up here precisely because you’re not a threat to us.”

Crowley fought down a laugh. _And just like that, I’ve supposedly been invited._ “Of course. Of course. Gabriel told me he had a good team up here.”

“Did he?”

“Naturally. Things were different in my day, probably why so many of us Fell.” He tugged at his cuff. “Anyway, nice as this is I really must get on. Are you actually authorised to help me, or should I ask one of the others to call Gabriel?”

“I’m authorised to give you whatever help you need.”

_Oh, little angel. The old me would have eaten you alive._

“Quite right, too.”

“I will alert Gabriel that you’re here.”

“No need for that!” Crowley said hastily. The angel stared at him. Crowley cleared his throat and forced a smile.

“I’ll go to him myself, no need to take up more of your time. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of, well, whatever it is you do to be getting back to. So, if you’ll point me in Gabriel’s direction, I’ll be out of your hair.”

“He’ll be in the chambers.”

“Right. Of course. The chambers. Naturally. Which are…?”

“Just left of the fountain up ahead. Follow the music, you’ll find it. Wait, shouldn’t you know already?”

“I…forgot. Nice talking to you.” Crowley sauntered away, careful not to move too quickly. He could feel the young angel’s gaze burning into his back, and it wouldn’t do to arouse his suspicions any further again now. Crowley could hear the music – a faint, bland drone of harps and some tinkling instrument that made him want to simultaneously sleep and tear his own ears off so he didn’t have to hear it anymore. Forget hell, this was true torture. They should send the damned up here to listen to this day in day out. Crowley stopped outside an ornately carved wooden door, and was instantly hit with a fuzzy, static-type feeling that was somehow a swirl of anxiety and calm at the same time.

He remembered this place.

He hadn’t until this moment, but now that he saw it how could he not? It felt like he’d drawn aside a curtain only to find the image burned into the wall of his mind; it was always there, just hidden. Forgotten. Until now. Crowley delicately traced his fingers along the carvings in the door, closing his eyes as the uncomfortable familiarity washed over him. Only angels of the two highest ranks were permitted to enter through this door and see the rooms that lay beyond. Which meant Aziraphale was probably being kept in here, away from the faceless masses that Gabriel didn’t want involved yet. Opening his eyes and taking another quick glance around, Crowley slipped inside.

It was quiet in here.

Not the warm comfortable quiet of the bookshop, or the relaxing quiet of a country evening; no, this quiet was cold and sterile and unwelcoming. It seemed to seep into Crowley’s very being and left him practically vibrating with discomfort. He couldn’t hear the music anymore and he found himself missing it; anything to break this awful quiet.

_He’s here_.

Crowley could almost smell his scent in the air. Aziraphale was definitely close by. Crowley slunk quietly towards the nearest door and peered inside. Nothing. Glancing around, he quickly made his way through another set of wooden doors and paused, sniffing the air. And there it was - that unmistakeable woody cologne. Just a trace, but definitely there. Crowley’s heart beat faster and he quickened his pace, desperate to get this over with one way or another. Following the faint scent, Crowley turned a corner and found himself in a long corridor. It seemed to be completely bare. _Left or right?_ He was about to make his decision when a door to the left of him caught his eye. It was white, almost perfectly blended with its surroundings. There was something…Crowley inhaled deeply, searching, hoping, and-

_There_.

Aziraphale was in there all right. Crowley eyed the door carefully. Would Heaven use alarms? Doubtful. Angels were so naïve. Crowley glanced up and down the corridor.

_No guards. That’s good._

Hastily, he rushed over to the door and pushed it open, closing it quickly behind him. Aziraphale was sat in a chair with his back to the door. At Crowley’s entrance he turned, then jumped from the chair with a little squeak and stared at him.

“Crowley…” he said weakly.

Crowley crossed the room and reached for him, running his hands up Aziraphale’s arms and cupping his face. _Doesn’t seem hurt, not restrained, ok. That’s good. Makes things easier. We might actually pull this off. _Reluctantly, he let go of Aziraphale and gestured towards the door.

“You’re fine. Come on. Let’s go.” He murmured quietly.

Aziraphale shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yes, obviously. Let’s go.”

“Gabriel wants you gone!”

“Yes. _Obviously_. Now. Let’s. Go. Come on, before anyone…comes to…” He trailed off. Aziraphale was still staring at him, an odd expression on his face. Slowly, Crowley turned to look at the door.

_…no guards…_

He looked back at Aziraphale.

_…doesn’t seem hurt…_

His eyes flicked down to Aziraphale’s wrists.

_…not restrained…_

He looked back up at Aziraphale’s face and his expression made Crowley’s blood run even colder than usual. He looked…guilty.

_…makes things easier…which they would know. This is wrong._

_Wrong._

**_Wrong_.**

“Did…” Crowley licked his suddenly dry lips. “Did you set me up?” he croaked out.

“What? No!” Aziraphale said quickly. _Too quickly_. He reached out but Crowley flinched away, eyeing him warily.

“You’re being weird. What did you do?”

“I didn’t-” Aziraphale stepped forwards again, Crowley stepped back, matching him pace for pace.

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale stopped walking, wringing his hands anxiously. “I had no choice!” he blurted out. “Gabriel came to see me again, after you left. He knows. I don’t know how but he does. He knows what we did and…oh, Crowley, this was the only way, don’t you see? That was the deal. I leave Earth, re-join Heaven’s ranks, and you get left alone.”

Crowley couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. He could only stare at Aziraphale as his mind tried to process what was happening.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh, Crowley, it’s not about me. Gabriel wants me back to make a point and if I didn’t…please try to understand-”

“Understand? How can I _possibly_ understand? What have you _done_?”

“I did what I had to.”

“And me? The record?”

“What record?” Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley I have no idea what you- oh!”

Crowley span around, following Aziraphale’s gaze over his shoulder. Gabriel stood in the doorway, smiling inanely. “Gabriel.” Crowley spat.

“Demon.” Gabriel clapped his hands together. “Well. Isn’t this cosy? Not thinking of running off, were you, Aziraphale?”

“No.” Aziraphale swallowed. “I didn’t ask him to come, I-“

“I know.” Gabriel smirked.

“You son of a bitch.” Crowley growled.

“Language.”

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale stepped between them. “I didn’t ask Crowley to come here. Our deal still stands. Just have someone escort him out and you won’t be troubled by either one of us again.”

“Hmm…” Gabriel pulled a mock thoughtful face, “…no.”

“No? What do you mean?”

“I mean ‘no’.” Gabriel shook his head. “You know me. I’m a team player.” His expression darkened and he pointed at Crowley. “But _he_ is on the other team.”

“You gave me your word, Gabriel. If you’re such a ‘team player’ you’ll keep it.”

Gabriel smiled smugly. “Did I say team player? Oh dear. I should say I’m more of a team _manager_. I do what’s best for the team as a whole. Not what’s best for individuals.”

“You can’t back out of it. You wouldn’t.”

“That’s true.” Gabriel agreed. “I fully intend to keep our deal. As I recall, it was that you come back Home, and I leave Crowley to continue his misadventures on Earth.”

“Precisely! So-”

“Except we’re not _on_ Earth, are we, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale gaped at him. “I’m sorry?”

“See, he’s come into my house. Uninvited. That wasn’t part of our arrangement.” His eyes met Crowley’s and he smiled widely. “Oops.”

“Ohh.” Crowley laughed mirthlessly. “So that’s why you wanted me here.”

“_Wanted_ you here?” Aziraphale asked, confused. Crowley nodded, not taking his eyes off Gabriel.

“There was a record playing in the shop. The Sound of Music. A message, to lead me here.”

“What?” Aziraphale looked at Gabriel in shock.

“I will destroy you.” Crowley growled. “I will tear you apart.” Gabriel laughed.

“What, you? Alone? Against the might of heaven? Please.”

“He wouldn’t be alone.” Aziraphale stepped forwards, eyes blazing furiously. Crowley suppressed a shiver – even when it wasn’t directed at him, Aziraphale’s fury was more than a little alarming. To his disquiet, Gabriel didn’t even flinch.

“Oh, well I’m scared now.” Gabriel mocked. “The demon and the traitor, a force to be reckoned with.” He cocked his head to one side. “You’re truly siding with him?”

“I am.”

“He’s visited Hell, you know. One on one with Beelzebub.” Aziraphale barely moved a muscle, but Crowley felt the atmosphere suddenly tense as Gabriel’s words hit home. It was as if someone had flipped a switch. Gabriel smirked. “That’s right. Forgot to mention that, didn’t he? In all your cosy little evenings in, never told you he was still in touch with his people. I wonder why?”

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, to protest his innocence, but Aziraphale got there first.

“I don’t care.”

Gabriel blinked. “Come again?”

“I said I don’t care.” Aziraphale looked over at Crowley. “Whatever reason he had for going to hell…I don’t care. We’re on our own side.” He looked back at Gabriel. “Against you.” Aziraphale reached towards Crowley, and he took his hand. “We’re leaving now.”

“Oh, Aziraphale.” Gabriel shook his head, smiling. “Poor, naive Aziraphale. That’s never going to happen.”


	19. Chapter 19

Crowley glared at Gabriel. The Archangel stared unflinchingly back, a smug little smile on his lips. Crowley could feel Aziraphale shaking beside him with barely controlled rage. He laid a hand warningly on Aziraphale’s arm.

“I must say, I am a little surprised.” Gabriel continued. “Grateful, but surprised. I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up. Didn’t think you’d put yourself in danger for a charade.”

“It’s not a charade.” Crowley growled. Gabriel shrugged.

“Maybe not. You are here, after all which…is something. But here’s the thing - I don’t actually care. You’re here. He’s here. I win.”

“You won’t get away with this.” Aziraphale snapped.

“Pretty sure I already have.”

“You can’t just keep us here!”

“I have no intention of keeping you here, Aziraphale. For one thing, you’re not a high enough rank to even be in this room. There’d be talk.” He looked over at Crowley. “As for Mr Crowley here, well, we can iron out the particulars later but-”

“We both know you’re going to kill me, so why don’t you just get on with it?” Crowley snarled. Gabriel looked surprised.

“Oh, dear me, no. I’m not going to kill you. Do I look like I’m stupid? How would I keep our friend here in line? No, you’re staying nice and snug and safe where I can keep an eye on you.” He beamed at the stunned look on Crowley’s face. “What can I say? I thought ahead.”

“And She’s ok with this, is She? Holding a demon, captive, up here?” Aziraphale asked.

“Safest place to hold one. He’s not endangering anybody.”

“That didn’t answer my question. Does…Does She even _know_ about this?”

Gabriel gave an open shrug and looked around as if searching for an invisible audience. “Well…”

“Of course She doesn’t.” Aziraphale realised. “Because She doesn’t know any of it, does She? That you were watching what Crowley was up to. That you were prepared to let me Fall. That’s why you asked me to keep your involvement quiet. She doesn’t know about _any of it_.”

“Somebody give this man a coconut.” Gabriel drawled. Aziraphale stared at him.

“Well, I’ll…I’ll tell Her.”

“You won’t get an audience with Her.”

“I’ll tell other people then. I’ll get the word out.”

“It will be your word against mine. And who do you think they’ll believe, Aziraphale, hmm? There’s me – an exemplary, hardworking agent of the Lord. And then there’s you – the traitor. Who betrayed Her for a demon.”

“I never betrayed Her.”

“And yet you assisted in halting Armageddon, you refused to re-join heaven’s ranks and have been practically living with a demon for…how long? And that’s _after_ we have proof that you’ve been ‘socialising’ the whole time you’ve been on Earth. I mean _I_ know you didn’t pass on any of heaven’s secrets, or deliberately allow souls to slip into Hell but I have to wonder how it would look to everybody else. Hmm?”

“I’ll get out.” Crowley said coolly. Gabriel smiled.

“Will you?” Gabriel smiled toothily, gesturing to the open door. Eyeing him suspiciously, Crowley stepped towards it and then froze. The air around him felt charged, almost crackling with dangerous power. Ethereal power. _He’s blessed it_. He slowly turned to face Gabriel. The Archangel’s grin grew wider. “The second you entered this room you trapped yourself. Took some pretty powerful blessings from some pretty powerful angels, but I’m pretty sure you won’t be going anywhere - Hell, I’d bet even Aziraphale here might find some discomfort leaving the room, given his _tarnished_ standing. And don’t even try to remove the blessings. I’m not stupid – the whole of the chambers are covered with the exception of this room. You’re not going anywhere, sunshine. So. Now we all understand each other. I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes.” He gave a sarcastic wave and left, not giving them a backwards glace.

The silence that followed was deafening. Aziraphale was still staring at the spot where Gabriel had been, his hands clenched into fists. Crowley swallowed. He’d known it would be dangerous, but this was beyond anything he’d thought Gabriel was capable of. With hindsight, it was obvious. Hindsight was a bitch.

“Aziraphale-”

“You shouldn’t have come.” Aziraphale said bitterly. Crowley’s eyebrows shot up.

“Excuse me?”

“Why the f- why did you come here? It would have been fine if you’d just stayed away.”

“I thought he took you. I thought you were in danger!”

“And you thought the best thing to do would be to put yourself in danger too?” Aziraphale rounded on him, his face contorted in something like anger and grief. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“And I need _your_ protection?” Crowley asked furiously.

“From him? Yes, evidently you do!” They glowered at each other for several long moments before Aziraphale seemed to collapse in on himself and sagged into a chair. “What are we supposed to do, Crowley?” he said in a small voice. “How do we get out of this one?”

Crowley didn’t know. For all his planning and his bluster, he had fucked up. He had underestimated them and now it was too late. “We fight.” He said quietly.

Aziraphale rested his head on his hands. “And how do we win?”

Crowley let out a long breath. “I don’t know.” He admitted. He watched Aziraphale for a few minutes, his eyes tracing every detail of him. “You should go.” He said eventually.

“No. I couldn’t.”

Crowley shook his head, smiling fondly. “You won’t even consider it? Why?”

“And leave you here? No. We’re in this together.”

“No we’re not. I appreciate the sentiment, Aziraphale, but we’re really not. He can’t kill you, not now, She’d notice. But me? She doesn’t give a shit about me. Never has. Even when I was crafting Her bloody stars and building Her skies She didn’t give a damn. So no, we’re not in this together.”

“This work for you, does it?”

“What?”

“This. Acting like a child, pushing me away because things aren’t going to plan?”

“Works great, thanks for asking.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Right.”

“Right.”

There was a tense silence. Crowley scuffed his foot on the floor, scowling. He knew he was acting like an idiot, but the truth was…he was scared. No, scratch that, he was absolutely bloody _petrified_, and he was damned if he was going to let Aziraphale know that. Well. More damned than he already was, he supposed. His mind was racing, trying desperately to come up with a plan, but he kept just coming back to the same solution. The same thought. _Aziraphale would have been fine if I wasn’t here_.

“Why did you go to hell?” Aziraphale asked, so quietly it took Crowley a few seconds to realise he’d been spoken to, and a few more seconds to properly register what had been said.

“I thought you didn’t care? Isn’t that what you told Gabriel?”

“Crowley.”

Crowley sighed. “I went to…I don’t know. Kill Beelzebub? Warn them off? Make sure I could still feel something? Any or all of the above? Beelzebub...they sent you that file and I had to do something about it. I had to. I went there, I spoke to them, I threatened them, they backed off. End of story. I only went the once. See? Nothing to lie about, nothing to hide. It happened before you came to see me in Paris. Before we talked.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Really? How could I?”

“You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I didn’t. I just…didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Crowley stared at him. His angel. His stubborn, broken, beautiful angel. In that moment he knew without a doubt there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. Nothing. Not even...well. And wasn’t that a thing. That same thought, back again.

“I love you.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “So you say. Doesn’t change the-”

“You need to kill me.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, horrified. “Excuse me?!”

“Aziraphale, listen-”

“No. Why would you even…? _What_?”

“It’s the only way. I’m stuck here. He will torture me, Aziraphale. He will torture me and he will use me to torture you. You heard what he said, ‘keep you in line’, we can’t…he’ll get away with it. If you don’t fight back he will get away with it. And if you do fight back, I will pay the price. I could walk through that door and end it myself but…I think you’d do it rather more quickly. Less painfully. I don’t need you to protect me, but I know you want to do it anyway.”

“Crowley-”

“So protect me.” Crowley hissed softly. “End. It.”

“Stop being so overdramatic.”

“I’m not being overdramatic. I’m being practical.”

“_Crowley_. We are _not_ having this discussion! No!”

“Why not? Don’t I deserve it?” Crowley spat, changing tack without a second thought, “After everything I did? I _used_ you. I hurt you. I _tortured_ you. I spent countless human lifetimes just planning how to break you, abusing your trust, exploiting your weaknesses.” Crowley leant down into Aziraphale’s space, face to face. Aziraphale looked to one side, refusing to meet Crowley’s eyes. “I lied to you for thousands of years because I wanted you to Fall. I tried to _destroy_ you, completely, destroy everything that you were-”

Aziraphale suddenly met his gaze. “And you came to heaven for me.”

Crowley paused, derailed. “I-what?”

“I’m not saying that you coming here, now, makes up for any of it. I’m not saying it makes anything better. But you asked me for a chance. To prove that I could trust you. To prove that you meant what you were saying.” He laughed bitterly. “You thought I’d been kidnapped and taken to the most dangerous place in the universe for you to go. And what do you do? Rush up here after me.” He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands. “You are a total bloody idiot and I am so beyond _furious_ with you that I can’t even put it into words and _I love you_. And I will _not_ kill you. And in case it needs saying; you are not killing yourself. There is another way. So for both our sakes do not mention it again.”

_He loves me. He loves me. _Crowley was momentarily stunned. This was the first time Aziraphale had said anything about his feelings since they had got everything out in the open. He swallowed. “I don’t know what else to do.” He admitted quietly. “I can’t get out of here without burning, and as long as I’m here he has you as his puppet. Much as it pains me to admit it, Gabriel’s outsmarted me on this one. He’s probably in the central chamber right now gloating to himself. We played right into his hands and I didn’t see it coming.” Crowley knelt down and rested his head on Aziraphale’s lap. “We may be fucked.”

Aziraphale’s fingers laced gently in Crowley’s hair, stroking softly. “Would it help if I said I’ll never talk to you again if you don’t get us out of here?”

Crowley laughed. “Just what I need. Some proper motivation.”

They lapsed into silence. Against all odds, Crowley felt himself relax inch by inch as Aziraphale’s fingers continued to massage his scalp. That probably wasn’t a good thing, his brain was starting to feel sluggish, but Crowley found it hard to care. He didn’t want Aziraphale to stop touching him.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were part cat.” Aziraphale laughed quietly. Crowley vaguely swatted him on the leg.

“Shut up. I’m a fearsome snake.”

“You’re practically purring.”

“Demons don’t purr.”

“Then you must be a terrible demon.”

“Rude.”

A comfortable silence descended again, which lasted several minutes before Aziraphale broke it with a sigh. “I suppose Gabriel will be back soon.”

“You know how to ruin a mood.” Crowley cleared his throat. “So, had any fantastic brainwaves?”

“Sorry. Like you said, Gabriel-” Aziraphale broke off. Crowley couldn’t stop a small whine from escaping when Aziraphale’s fingers suddenly stopped. Embarrassed, he tried to cover it up with a small cough. “Central chamber?”

“Eh?” Crowley raised his head to look up at him. Aziraphale was frowning.

“You said Gabriel would be in the central chamber.”

“Yes…?”

“What central chamber?”

Crowley blinked at him. What did he mean? They’d come in the same way. Crowley had walked past it, surely, he could see it in his mind’s eye. Aziraphale must have too? “Down the corridor, to the right. Past the statue with the…the…” he trailed off. He’d _gone the other way_. “Which is not where we came in.” He began slowly.

“Crowley?”

Crowley shook his head, holding up a hand to silence Aziraphale. It was _there_, that _something_ on the edge of his consciousness. “The door, I remembered the door. To get in here, I remembered it, but I…argh.” He stood so abruptly that Aziraphale actually jumped. “There’s a door, and then through, but…how?” he’d been in here before. He must have been. He’d never considered it before, his rank as an angel, but he supposed it made sense that he’d have been one of the highest. He was one of the first, why wouldn’t he be? And he knew he’d been higher than Beelzebub. But this was…wrong, it was _wrong_, it meant that so much more of him had been stripped away in the Fall than he’d ever realised, so much of him lost in the burning and the screaming and dark.

_But I remember._

“Demons don’t purr.” He said suddenly.

“Crowley?”

Crowley held up a hand. “Shush, shush, shut up. Shut up a second. I was thinking…what was I thinking?” he gave an inarticulate noise of frustration. “I had it! I almost had it. What was I…? Demons don’t purr. But I’m a terrible demon. Terrible. But I wasn’t. I wanted to bring you down. I wanted to break you. I hated you.”

“Is there a point to this?” Aziraphale asked, sounding hurt.

“Shhh. I hated you, I wanted to…but then you changed me. You showed me I could be better, you made me…me.” Crowley felt suddenly woozy, collapsing into the chair Aziraphale had recently vacated. There was something there, in his mind, so frustratingly close he could practically taste it. He squeezed his eyes shut.

_Demons don’t purr._

_They don’t._

_They don’t purr._

_They’re not nice._

_They don’t love._

Crowley’s eyes sprang open and he stared mutely at Aziraphale. Demons didn’t love, everyone knew that. Love was one of the first things stripped away at the Fall. It was an angelic emotion, represented _good_. And yet here they were. Crowley was absolutely and categorically in love. With an angel. Which could only lead him to one conclusion. One insane, impossible, ludicrous conclusion…

“What if you didn’t change me?” He said softly. _What if you just changed me back?_ Aziraphale looked confused, but didn’t speak. Crowley got up and walked over to the doorframe. He saw Aziraphale tense, but to his credit he didn’t make any move to stop him. Crowley stopped just shy of the door, close enough that he could feel the blessings pricking uncomfortably at his aura. It felt like an explosion waiting to happen, just needing that spark that would set the whole thing off and burn him out of existence. He could still remember the blessing he’d received back in the 1400s, how it had felt like fire inside him, consuming him from the inside out. That was nothing compared to the strength of this.

“Crowley, what are you doing?” Aziraphale asked cautiously.

“I survived. When we went back to the shop.” He said slowly. Aziraphale made a confused noise. “When we first talked things through.” Crowley clarified. “You had all those wards and stuff. I survived.”

“Well…I mean; I took them all down pretty quickly once you started screaming. What’s this about?”

“But I shouldn’t have survived.”

“From what I remember you almost didn’t.”

Crowley frowned. That wasn’t what he remembered. He remembered the agonising pain, obviously, he remembered feeling like he couldn’t possibly survive it…but that was all it had been. Pain. Once the protections had been removed he’d been fine. Which now that he thought about it, didn’t make a whole lot of sense. He was a demon. He was definitely a demon; you didn’t come back from the Fall. There was no forgiveness. No redemption. But perhaps he wasn’t entirely demonic. Perhaps he was…something else…

“I might have an idea.” He said slowly. “It probably won’t work.”

“Ok…?”

“Oi! Gabe! I want a word!” Crowley bellowed. Aziraphale gasped.

“What are you doing?!”

“Shh!” He waited, tense, until Gabriel appeared in the open doorway. His eyebrows rose at the sight of Aziraphale stood at Crowley’s side.

“Still here? Interesting decision.”

“Shut it.” Crowley snapped. “We want to leave.”

“You do surprise me.”

“You’re going to _let_ us leave.”

Gabriel laughed. “Why in heaven would I do that?”

“Because I asked nicely.”

Gabriel snorted. “Well, I mean for one; you didn’t. And also…no.” he looked at Crowley like he’d just drooled on his shirt. Crowley gave a slow grin.

“There was a time you’d have done anything I said.”

Gabriel stared at him, obviously thrown. “Excuse me?!”

“Things have changed since then, of course. We’ve changed.”

Gabriel threw him a look of deepest loathing. “I don’t have time to play games, d_emon_. Aziraphale, come with me. NOW.” He turned and started to stride away. He’d barely taken more than a few steps before Crowley called after him.

“Which one of us has changed the most, I wonder? Since the stars?”

Gabriel faltered and looked back. “What did you say?”

“You looked up to me, once.” And he had. Crowley _remembered_. He’d remembered Gabriel before, of course, but in a sort of detached way. He’d never given it a lot of thought before. But now he was here, in this place, and he could see those eyes looking up at him in his memory full of admiration, awe, and…jealousy.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Before. Before I was Crowley. Before I Fell. Before you abandoned me.”

“You can’t possibly remember that.” Gabriel looked suddenly very pale, and very old. He was staring at Crowley with the most curious expression. Crowley pressed his advantage.

“That’s not all I remember. We used to talk, you and me. Do you remember, Gabriel? Remind me…which is your favourite star?”

Gabriel blanched. “They’re all equal. All of God’s creations are equal.”

“Come now. We both know that’s not entirely true, don’t we?” Crowley stepped forwards, arms spread in supplication. “I don’t recall what I named it. But the humans call it Sirius. The dog star. It’s apt, I think.”

“Apt?” Aziraphale chimed in, confused. Crowley didn’t so much as glance at him, keeping his eyes trained on Gabriel who was staring at him in horrified fascination now. He took another careful step towards the Archangel.

“They’re loyal, you see, dogs.” He continued softly. “Stupidly loyal. Almost to the point of self-destruction, given the wrong circumstances. And you _are_ loyal, Gabriel. I’ll give you that. The only question is, what are you loyal to?”

“Well, I…The Almighty, of course! Everything I’ve done is for Her good. I bow to Her will.”

“You don’t know what Her will _is_. None of us do. Never have. So what you’re loyal to is an _idea_. What you _think_ Her will is. The Plan. Armageddon. All of it. Stick to the Plan at all costs, am I right?”

“Of course-”

“Are you serious?” Aziraphale interrupted. Gabriel turned to look at him. “You stood by and watched whilst he…he…_corrupted_ me, tried to make me Fall…you cannot tell me you believed that was Her will!”

“Why?” Crowley asked. The two angel’s heads snapped towards him, obviously neither having expected him to speak. It would have looked comical in different circumstances, but Crowley was too focused on the stakes to think about it too much.

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale asked in disbelief.

“It was Her will when _I_ Fell. When we _all_ Fell, really. Lucifer. Beelzebub. Hastur. Why _not_ you?”

Aziraphale looked like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or fly into an incandescent rage. “What…?”

“I’m not saying it _was_ Her will.” Crowley said hastily. “Of course not. I’m just saying Gabriel had no reason to think it wasn’t.”

“Are you _defending_ him?!”

“Of course I’m bloody not! What he did was…well, it was something one of my lot would do quite frankly. Something _I_ might have done once upon a time. In fact, there’s been a lot that he and Heaven have done which rather toed the line, don’t you think?”

Gabriel blinked. “I-”

“So I have to wonder…” Crowley said softly, “how different are we? Really? Because if an angel can display demonic tendencies then it stands to reason that a demon…” he trailed off, letting the sentence hang in the air. _Here goes nothing. I can do this. I can do this_. Crowley reached out a hand and laid it gently on the doorframe.

It was like dunking his hand in boiling acid.

The pain flared so suddenly and so intensely that Crowley almost lost control and cried out. But he didn’t. He saw Aziraphale jolt in alarm and start towards him, but he shot him a warning look – perhaps he wasn’t as good at hiding the agony as he’d hoped, but it seemed to have fooled Gabriel. The archangel was staring at Crowley, dumbstruck, clearly rattled.

Crowley was just glad his hand wasn’t on fire.

He could feel the blisters erupting on his palm, could feel the liquid fire of the blessings infecting his corporation’s bloodstream, threatening to stop his useless heart, but he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just smiled gently at Gabriel as though he couldn’t feel a thing.

You don’t spend as much time in Hell as he had and not learn to mask your pain.

“…can display angelic qualities.” He finished. To his own ears his voice sounded sharp, a bit too low, but there wasn’t so much of a flicker of doubt on Gabriel’s face. “Doesn’t look like you’re quite as protected as you thought.”

Gabriel actually took a step backwards before he shook his head. “Please. You’re done the whole swapping trick before, I-”

“Aziraphale, walk through the door.” Crowley said smoothly. Aziraphale did as he asked, pausing beside Gabriel and looking back at Crowley. Crowley could see the tension radiating from him, and silently willed Aziraphale not to do anything. _Let me handle this. It’s working._

_I don’t know how much longer I can bear the pain._

Gabriel’s eyes were wide in confusion and what might have been terror. Crowley forced himself to grin. It was vital he strike whilst Gabriel was still confused, before he had time to consider what might be going on.

Before he realised Crowley was doing what he did best – manipulating.

_You can do this, Crowley. You have to. You will not burn. You will **not** burn._ The pain now surged through his entire arm – although thankfully it seemed the blistering was only on his palm, hidden from view – it was white hot and rapidly spreading. _You will **not** burn me, you smug arrogant prick. I will burn **you** before that happens._

“So here’s what’s going to happen.” He said quietly. “You’re going to take down your wards, your blessings, your whatever-the-heaven is protecting this place, and Aziraphale and I are going to walk out of here.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?”

A hint of smugness returned to Gabriel’s expression. “If you could get out you would just go. You wouldn’t need me to remove anything.”

_Bollocks. Shitty fucking bollocks._ To his horror, Crowley saw a small trickle of smoke from beneath his palm. He gritted his teeth. He wasn’t sure if he could keep this up for much longer. His eyes drifted sideways and locked with Aziraphale’s. The angel was watching him, confusion and terror etched on his face. And Crowley suddenly felt…calm. He could do this. He _would_ do this. If he’d learned anything over the past several millennia it was that Aziraphale was unlike any other angel, and like heaven was Crowley going to let any of that…_Aziraphale-ness_…be lost to Gabriel’s power trip. He forced himself to look back at Gabriel.

“I could. But I’m not going to lie, it’s uncomfortable – almost itchy, really – and if I’m uncomfortable I get grumpy. And if I’m grumpy…” he shrugged. “You probably don’t want to know. See, I can come back whenever I want. You can’t stop me, now, can you?”

“I still think you’re bluffing.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. Gabriel sounded confident, and his smug smile hadn’t wavered, but…there was something about his eyes. Something deep inside, something that conjured up memories of his execution, when Gabriel had regarded him with such open alarm…and so Crowley did something that was either extremely clever, or extremely stupid – as to which would depend on the outcome.

He stepped forwards, through the doorway.


	20. Chapter 20

Crowley was burning. He was burning, and he was dying, and it _hurt_. He could feel his skin blistering, _melting_, agony unlike anything he could have believed. He wondered if this was how Ligur had felt, and felt an unexpected pang of guilt underneath it all.

Crowley was also completely fine.

It was a fracture in reality, a glaring hitch in the fabric of Crowley’s existence and it seemed like most of his senses had gone offline in a panic whilst his brain struggled to comprehend what was happening. Crowley couldn’t move, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t focus. All around him was swirling white and grey; Crowley could see shapes and figures forming and dissipating, constantly moving, never staying for long enough for him to see properly. And the _screaming_, agonised continuous screaming, driving at his every nerve, surrounding him.

How had he even got here? He had to get back to where he’d been before. He _needed_ to. It was nagging at him. He’d been…where had he been? In the Garden. Yes. No. That wasn’t right…that was a long time ago. Wasn’t it? Crowley tried to remember, tried to think of anything except pain and screaming and emptiness.

_I’m dead. I have to be. Nothing else makes sense_.

Crowley latched onto that thought, something coherent in a cacophonous void of nothing. He was dead. He’d died. How had he died? And what did that make this, some sort of afterlife for eternal beings? How did that even make sense? Had She created it, some secret plane of existence, some way to ensure Her subjects never truly died? What was the point?

_Focus Crowley. Breathe. Just breathe._

Could he breathe? Crowley tried to take a breath but his chest felt paralysed. Terror and bile welled up in his throat. _I can’t breathe. Help me I can’t breathe. _Crowley clawed at his throat in a panic. _Oxygen, why is there no oxygen, why can’t I take a breath, I need to…I need…I don’t…need. To. Breathe. I don’t need to breathe._Crowley lowered his hands, clinging to the realisation like a lifeline. He didn’t need to breathe. He’d never needed to breathe. He was forgetting himself, losing himself in the maddening swirl of nothingness that surrounded him. If this was an afterlife, it was probably going to drive him insane.

_If it hasn’t already. Am I insane? How could I tell? I stepped through enough Holy magic to destroy Satan himself so there must be something wrong with-_The doorway.

Aziraphale.

He’d forgotten, how could he have forgotten!? Where was Aziraphale? Where was _any of it_? How long had he even been like this, paralyzed by pain and numbness and nothingness? Crowley tried to fight through the panic, tried to hold on to the thought of Aziraphale – _he needs me, he’s alone with Gabriel, I promised I wouldn’t leave him _– he could already feel his awareness slipping away again in a fog and he struggled to hold on.

_No. I won’t lose him. I won’t._

And then he felt it. The faintest brush of air against the back of his neck. Someone - or some_thing_\- else was there with him.

_This is Hell._

It made sense; he was a demon after all. He’d committed so many atrocities. He’d destroyed the hopes and dreams of so many humans. He’d ruined lives, caused deaths, gathered countless souls for his Lord Satan…and he’d tried to make an Angel Fall. There was nothing worse. Why wouldn’t he be punished for all eternity? Alone in the void with a nameless something…

Crowley gritted his teeth. There was a pressure building in his skull, a sharp focused pain that was somehow so much worse than the intense, fractured pain/not pain of the rest of him.

_I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I failed._ He’d let him down. _And not just by leaving_. Crowley realised with a jolt._ Not just for breaking my promise. I’m sorry for all of it. _And he was. He genuinely was, in a way he’d never thought about before. Every life, every soul, every good thing he’d ever tainted with evil or malice or damnation weighed heavily on him. Nothing he’d ever done since he Fell had been justified, and it had put him here. _I’m so sorry. I tried to be better._

Crowley closed his eyes, picturing Aziraphale’s face. At least he knew the angel would be alright. There was a limit to what Gabriel could do to him without ramifications, and whatever else Gabriel was he wasn’t stupid. Aziraphale would be fine. The angel always was. Crowley could picture him so vividly it almost made him forget the pain and the madness. He remembered the feel of Aziraphale’s hands cupping his face, the smell of his cologne, the sound of his voice. _“…I am so beyond **furious **with you that I can’t even put it into words and **I love you**…”_

Anger sparked deep inside him, then, a fiery ember burning through everything else, warming him from the inside out.

_I don’t deserve this._

Crowley’s eyes sprang open.

Aziraphale had forgiven him, he’d _forgiven him_, and that meant that in spite of what Crowley had believed for his entire existence he was _not _unforgivable. Aziraphale knew the very worst of him, the very worst of everything he’d ever done, and still he loved him and forgave him. And not that bullshit generic angelic love; proper love – pure and passionate and unrelenting. If Aziraphale could forgive him, could still love him, what right did She have to withhold forgiveness? What gave Her the right to judge? He was a product of his circumstance – not a justification, but a _reason_. And She had done that, so what gave Her any right at all?

Crowley felt the air against his neck again, a flicker of cold against the burning of his skin and he suddenly knew exactly what it was. He could _feel _it. He growled. It sounded shockingly loud and tore at his throat, but Crowley was too angry to care. She’d abandoned him. And still he’d sought Her out in times of need in spite of never getting a response. Well, no more. He wasn’t going to give Her the satisfaction of his anguish. He wasn’t going to play this game.

“Fuck…you.” Crowley snarled. Every syllable felt like knives slicing at his throat. He could feel the pressure building in his skull and the whiteness around him seemed to intensify, making him squint. It was like standing in the heart of a sun. “Fuck…you. And your stupid…unrealistic…expectations.”

_I’m conscious. I can think. I think, therefore I am. Who said that? Doesn’t matter. I’m thinking. Which means I **am not dead**. If I’m dead, it’s all for nothing. I refuse._

“What, still not talking?!” Crowley tried to look around but he couldn’t even tell if he was moving. Everything looked the same. “Why won’t you…ANSWER ME?!” He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, although he could barely feel it. “I don’t…need…your forgiveness.” He growled. “I am more than I was. More…than you thought I…could be. He brought…me…back. And you don’t get to…to…drag me down again.”

His head felt like it was going to explode, his eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets. The light surrounding him grew brighter and brighter, the screaming was building to a deafening crescendo. Crowley slammed his hands to his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but it didn’t make a difference. It kept getting louder and louder. It was like it was coming from inside his head, from him, and _oh._

_It is._

As soon as Crowley realised that, the light died and everything went quiet.

****

Silence.

****

Silence.

****

Sweet, blessed silence.

****

Crowley remained frozen in place. His body tingled and buzzed with the threat of pain and he knew instinctively that as soon as he moved it was going to overwhelm him again. Everything was dark, and it took him a few seconds to realise that was because his eyes were still shut.

He slowly opened them, blinking in the light.

Aziraphale and Gabriel stood before him, each staring at him in horrified fascination. Crowley stared back, nonplussed. He had a strong feeling that something monumental had just happened, but he had no idea what it was.

“What?” he asked eventually, when it became clear that neither of the two angels was going to speak. His voice rasped, scratching his throat, like it hadn’t been used in a long time. Aziraphale swallowed.

“…Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“You’re…alive.”

Crowley frowned. “Should I not be?”

“You…” Aziraphale looked over Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley turned his head to see what he was looking at. He gazed silently at the empty room behind him for several seconds before his brain finally, _finally _restarted. Everything came flooding back – the rescue attempt, Gabriel’s imprisonment, the doorway…stepping through…

All at once, his every nerve lit up with searing agony. His knees buckled and Crowley collapsed, biting down a scream. He could see that his hands were red raw and weeping. He wondered if his face looked that bad. Crowley took a second to gather his thoughts before forcing himself to relax, smile, hide the pain – _don’t let him see, don’t let him see _– before he looked back up at the two angels. Pushing himself awkwardly to his feet again, he focused on Gabriel, taking a step towards him. Gabriel staggered back until he hit the wall, eyes wide with horror and confusion.

“So.” Crowley began conversationally. His voice still scratched at his throat, but he tried to keep his tone steady. “It seems I wasn’t bluffing after all, doesn’t it? Lucky, that. So, if you wouldn’t mind removing these protection spells…” he trailed of threateningly. Gabriel blinked at him several times before raising a shaking hand and snapping his fingers. At once, Crowley’s pain diminished to nothing more than a sharp sting, like salt in a wound – very unpleasant, but easier to manage. “We’ll be off, then.” He said agreeably. Gabriel nodded mutely. Crowley cocked his head, considering him. “Think about what I said, Gabriel. Think about where your loyalties lie. We don’t have to be enemies.” Aziraphale made a disbelieving noise behind him, but Crowley ignored him. “We just want to be allowed to live our lives. I don’t want to fight you.” He glanced back at Aziraphale, then leant closer to Gabriel. “But if you make me, then I will.”

“You’re threatening me?” Gabriel said, his voice trembling. Crowley shook his head.

“Not a threat. A promise.” He reached for Aziraphale and the angel took his arm. Aziraphale let him lead them towards the exit, and Crowley could feel Gabriel watching them until they were out of sight.

“What just happened?” Aziraphale asked quietly. Crowley shook his head. His legs were trembling and he felt too weak to even think about it. “Are you ok?”

“Nope.” Crowley said through gritted teeth.

“Are you going to pass out?”

Crowley considered this. “Too soon to tell.”

“At least try to hold on until we’re out of here.” Aziraphale said anxiously. “I don’t think I can carry you.”

“I’ll do my best.”

They managed to make it to the Bentley before Crowley’s knees buckled and he almost pulled Aziraphale down on top of him. After a very brief ‘discussion’ he was forced to allow Aziraphale to drive them back to the bookshop. Neither of them spoke, and Crowley was grateful for it. He could tell Aziraphale was burning with questions but he didn’t have the strength to answer them. Plus he had no idea how he even _could_answer them. Putting it from his mind, he leant his forehead against the window, the cool glass soothing his burning skin, and drifted into an uneasy doze.

**SOME TIME LATER**

Crowley opened his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling. His first thought was complete confusion, because he had no idea where he was. He was lying on a plush, comfortable bed surrounded by far too many pillows in an odd mishmash of colours and patterns that really should look terrible, but somehow worked. His gaze fell on a stack of books over in one corner and he smiled. _Ah. _Aziraphale’s room. The smile faded as he sank back into the pillows, thinking about what had happened. He raised one arm and examined it, turning his hand over and over. The skin was red and still felt sore, but looked surprisingly well healed. There was no sign of any cracks or blistering or anything more than what looked like a mild scald.

_How long have I been asleep??_

Groaning, he pulled himself out of bed, pausing when he realised he was only wearing his underwear. He hastily miracled himself something comfortable to wear and made his way down the stairs to the shop. Aziraphale was sat gazing out of the window, and he had the look of someone who hadn’t moved in a very long time. He was holding a mug of tea, but Crowley could tell even from a distance it was stone cold. He wouldn’t be surprised if Aziraphale had forgotten he was even holding it.

“Hey.”

Aziraphale jumped, his head whipping round. The cup of tea fell from his lax fingers into his lap, and Crowley couldn’t help his amused snort as Aziraphale shot his trousers a pained look before vanishing the wet stain. Aziraphale looked back at him, he cheeks pink. “You’re up!”

“Looks like.”

“How are you feeling?”

Crowley considered. “Normal. Ish. How long was I out?”

“Three days.”

“Three days?” Crowley looked down at his hands again. “Have you been _healing _me?”

Aziraphale looked slightly sick. “…no.”

“Right.” Crowley looked back at his hand. It had taken him almost two weeks to heal from the damage done to his feet after walking through that church during the war. How had this much damage healed in just a few days without intervention?

An awkward silence fell. Crowley didn’t like the way Aziraphale was looking at him – it reminded him of how he’d looked at him all those months ago after their uneasy reconciliation; with uncertainty and distrust, as though he didn’t really know who Crowley was. He cast around for something to say, but Aziraphale got there first.

“Can you talk about what happened?”

Crowley looked away. What _had _happened? It was already starting to feel like a bad dream…was it possible he’d imagined the whole thing? “Did I go anywhere?” he asked hesitantly, “After I stepped through?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, you just sort of…froze. You looked…your skin…” he broke off, taking a steadying breath. “It was like you were burning from the inside. And then you screamed…I’ve never heard anything like it. Every tortured soul in Hell couldn’t make a sound like that.” He let out a huff of mirthless laughter. “I thought for sure you were dead. What the hell were you thinking? Why did you do something so _stupid_?!”

“I don’t know.” Crowley admitted. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“You said you had a plan.”

“I did have a plan. Half a plan. Sort of. More of an idea, really.” Crowley gave an irritated sigh. “I wasn’t actually planning on stepping through, just…touching it.”

“How did you know even _that _wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.” he admitted. “But I thought there was a chance. Doesn’t matter now. I’m alive, aren’t I? Let’s just leave it at that.”

“What does that even mean? A chance?”

“Can we drop it?”

“No.”

Crowley sat down on the sofa, resting his head on his hands. After a few seconds, Aziraphale sat beside him. “I think…” Crowley began slowly. “I think I’ve…changed.”

“Obviously.”

“No, I mean actually _changed _changed.”

“Ok…?”

“Maybe I’m being silly but I don’t think I’m a demon anymore.” Crowley said in a rush. Aziraphale stared at him. “I mean, I _am _still a demon. I’m definitely a demon. But also…something else. Not an angel, not quite a demon. Something new.” He bit his lip. “I feel…remorse. Guilt. And…I’ve been remembering things. Things from Before. Things that were taken from me.”

“How is that possible?” Aziraphale said in shock.

“I don’t know how exactly. But I think it’s to do with you.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his, studying it intently. “When Gabriel called my bluff I looked at you and I just knew I had to do something. I had to protect us. So I did.”

“But if you’re changing…if you’re remembering things from before the Fall…Crowley this is huge.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still…you?”

“Oh yes. Definitely still me.”

Aziraphale swallowed heavily. “We have to do something. Do you have any idea what this could mean?!”

“It _means _we should keep our heads down and not talk about it.” Crowley said firmly. “Can you imagine if either side found out, what that could do?”

“But so many could potentially be redeemed-”

“Or no-one could and we’d just start some sort of holy war. We have no idea why or how this has happened. Or even if I’m right.”

Aziraphale nodded, but he didn’t look entirely happy about it. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Aziraphale spoke up again. “What did you see? When you stepped through the door?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I guess it was some sort of, I dunno, a hallucination or, or dream or something.”

“Crowley.”

Crowley sighed. “It seemed like I was…somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere…bad. Look, if we’re going to talk about this I think we should at least have a drink.”

Aziraphale brought out a decanter of whiskey and over the next several hours they talked. Crowley did his best to explain what had happened, but he was sure he could never communicate to Aziraphale exactly what it was. It was as if there was some sort of block in his mind - he could remember it all so clearly, in such detail that he suspected it would haunt his nightmares for centuries to come. _Maybe it’s a good thing I can’t tell him._

Aziraphale for his part did his best not to push, simply letting Crowley talk and responding where appropriate. They talked about Crowley’s suspicions and the potential implication of them. Crowley saw his face gradually relax, the distrust in his eyes fading, and he finally felt like they were free.

“I think you should get more rest.” Aziraphale said eventually. “Stay here. Sleep. Recover.”

“Thanks, Angel.” Crowley hadn’t wanted to say anything, but truth be told he was feeling a bit off. He hastily sobered up, then headed towards the door that would take him to the staircase up to Aziraphale’s flat.

“Crowley?”

Crowley turned around. Aziraphale was watching him curiously. “Hmm?”

“This...dream. Place. Whatever you want to call it. Was anyone else there with you?”

Crowley thought about the air on the back of his neck, the certainty he’d felt about what – or Who – it was. “No.” He cleared his throat. “I was completely alone.”

********

Crowley spent the next week in and out of sleep. It seemed like whenever he awoke there was a hot cup of tea beside the bed – Crowley wasn’t a huge fan of tea, but he appreciated the gesture and drank it every time. He missed the angel’s company, though, and it was that which made him finally get up once his skin had faded back to normal. It still made him uneasy how quickly he’d healed, but he decided it wasn’t that important - it was probably something to do with how he’d changed, and Crowley still wasn’t comfortable poking that particular sore spot. Aziraphale seemed delighted to see him up and about and wasted no time in getting out a bottle of red he’d apparently been ‘saving for a special occasion’ (it seemed to Crowley that Aziraphale constantly had bottles saved for special occasions, but he didn’t comment. No point in annoying the angel right now, he should save it up for later when he’d enjoy the fun of it a bit more). They made idle conversation for a while, steadily drinking, but Crowley felt like there was something hanging in the atmosphere, some hidden tension. The conversation wasn’t flowing as freely as it had done. _I’ve been here a long time_, he thought gloomily, _maybe Aziraphale needs space to process everything._

“I should probably be getting home, Angel.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, sharply. “Home? You mean your flat? Why?”

“I’ve been imposing on your hospitality long enough. Time I got out of your hair. I’m fine, now, after all.”

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if he were wrestling with what to say. He downed what was left in his glass and set it on the table with a decisive nod.

“You could stay.”

Crowley shook his head. “Nah. I told you, I’m fine. You don’t need to mother hen me. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.” Crowley held up a hand to show Aziraphale and grinned. “See? All fine.”

“Crowley.”

“Hmm?”

“I am asking you to stay.”

“Oh. Um. Alright then. Netflix? I’m sure we could find a film or something. Or I suppose we could have a look at some of those books-”

“_Crowley_.”

“No? Something else? What?”

“Stay.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and brought it to his chest, gazing searchingly into Crowley’s face. “With me.”

Crowley frowned, confused. “Well of course it would be with…oh.” His expression slackened and he swallowed. “_Oh_.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale agreed.

“Are you sure?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ve made a fair few wrong choices in the past, but not this one. I choose you. I choose _us_. Forever. If you’ll have me.”

A grin spread over Crowley’s face. “Sounds good to me, Angel.”

“Well then.” Aziraphale threaded his fingers through Crowley’s. “I think you should probably kiss me, now.”

Crowley didn’t need to be told twice.

**EPILOGUE **

**FIFTEEN YEARS LATER **

** **

“Will you get a move on? We’re going to be late for the ceremony, and Adam was quite explicit about us making sure we were there on time.”

Crowley glared at Aziraphale’s reflection in the mirror, his fingers fumbling with his tie. “This would be a lot quicker if you’d just let me miracle a proper morning suit.”

“I told you, we’re cutting back.” Aziraphale rested his head against the doorway, watching Crowley. “Besides, I’m not giving them any excuse to turn up and spoil Adam’s big day. So that means no miracles of any kind.”

“Aziraphale, we’ve not heard from them in years. Literal, _actual _years, and we’ve both been using our powers in that time. Why in hell’s name would they care about me conjuring up a fancy suit all of a sudden?”

Aziraphale suddenly seemed very interested in his shoes. “Well, that’s not strictly true. I did see Gabriel the other day.”

Crowley abandoned the tie and whirled around to face Aziraphale, his face falling into a concerned frown. “You didn’t tell me that!”

Aziraphale shrugged. “There was no need, he didn’t really say anything. It was all perfectly civil.”

“Civil. Gabriel.”

“Yes, actually.” He sniffed thoughtfully. “He asked after your health.”

“Which of course must mean he’s scoping us out and is planning something nefarious?”

“Well I don’t know. Look, just…for me? Please? No miracles.”

“Fine. Although I can’t do this bastard tie, so maybe I should just forget the suit. I’ll dress up properly for the next wedding.”

“I’m fairly sure he’s only planning on having one, dear.”

“They always do. Doesn’t mean that’s what happens.”

Aziraphale stepped forwards and began fixing Crowley’s tie. “You say that every time we go to one of these.” he chided gently. "As long as you only say it to me that’s fine, but do let's not have a repeat of Warlock's wedding. I thought his new wife was going to hit you."

Crowley laughed. "She can't have hated me that much; they made me godmother to little what’s-his-face."

Aziraphale stifled a smile. “You know perfectly well his name is Francis - you're just bitter they didn't name a child after you. As if they would.”

“Ashtoreth is a fine name I'll have you know. For any and all genders.”

“Of course, dear.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "I hate you, you know."

“The feeling is entirely mutual. I find you quite repugnant.” Aziraphale made a satisfied little noise and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “There! Marvellous.”

Crowley glared at his reflection critically. “It'll do.” Before Aziraphale had a chance to react, Crowley span and grabbed his arm, crowding him against a wall. “Repugnant?” He hissed silkily.

“Positively odious.” Aziraphale whispered back, his eyes flicking down to Crowley's mouth. “You're a demon, after all.”

“Aren't I just?” Crowley surged forwards, crushing his mouth against Aziraphale's. Aziraphale's hands bunched the front of Crowley's suit, pulling him closer, and Crowley was just wondering how annoyed Aziraphale would be if he just vanished both their suits to get his hands on the angel properly (and how quickly he could get back into the angel's good graces) when Aziraphale gently pushed him back.

“We really do need to get going.”

Crowley groaned, backing away so Aziraphale could readjust his suit. “You really are wicked, you know that?”

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow and smirked. “Only when you deserve it, my dear.”

Crowley laughed. “Alright, angel. You win.”

Aziraphale smiled so brightly it seemed to light up the whole flat. Crowley loved that smile; there was nothing he wouldn't do to make Aziraphale smile like that. Taking the angel's hand, he pulled him towards the front door.

“Come on, then, angel. We don't want to be late for the antichrist's first wedding.”

“_Crowley!_”

“Oh you love it.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “Don't let it go to your head.”

  
****

Crowley had to admit, it was a pretty good wedding as these things went. It hadn’t been in a church, for instance, that was always a plus. Although – he eyed the humans dancing – the entertainment was never much good. At least Aziraphale wasn’t trying to start a gavotte or anything, Crowley wasn’t sure he could handle that.

“You look happy.”

Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale. “I’m not sure if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“Me? Never.”

Crowley snorted. “Alright, come on then. I can tell you’re itching for me to ask you to dance.”

Aziraphale looked doubtfully at the dancefloor. “I’m not sure I can gavotte to this.”

“Good. Look, just follow my lead. It’s a slow song just…sway.”

He pulled Aziraphale onto the dancefloor and eyed the other couples, trying to keep in time to the rhythm. Aziraphale slowly relaxed as they moved with the music, and Crowley let his focus narrow onto just the two of them; as though the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Aziraphale leant his head against Crowley's shoulder and sighed happily.

“I don't want this evening to end.”

Aziraphale's hair was tickling his face and Crowley could smell the woody cologne he loved so much. He glanced over at Adam chatting with his parents and felt a sudden pang of anxiety. Could he have this? Really? Did people like him even get a happily ever after? He glanced at the top of Aziraphale’s head, and felt a sense of peace wash over him. Crowley felt a brush of cool air tickle the back of his neck, making him shiver. He ignored it. Wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s waist to pull him closer, he pressed a kiss to the angel’s head.

“Me neither.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're done!  
Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has read this, commented, given kudos or subscribed! It means a lot. This started off a lot shorter and with a slightly different plot when I first started writing it and then it sort of got away from me.  
I've had a lot of fun with this and I really appreciate the support I've had from people :D I'm going to miss this one.


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